


That Time Bucky gave Steve a real Halloween

by heizl



Series: The Adventures of Bucky & Steve Barnes [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Relationships, Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Memories, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Comfort, Common Cold, Domestic Boyfriends, Established Relationship, Gen, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Haunted Houses, Holidays, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Minor Bruce Banner/Tony Stark, Minor Character Death, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Modern Era, Party, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pumpkins, Road Trips, Sad and Sweet, Thanksgiving, Trick or Treating, Video Cameras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-07-21 02:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 105,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16150208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heizl/pseuds/heizl
Summary: Fall had always been Steve and Bucky's favorite season, ever since they were little kids. They had fond memories of creating costumes with each other of characters from some of their favorite movies  — Steve's favorite was the year they dressed in matching Ghostbuster suits, making proton packs from old milk cartons and using the vacuum hose to, well, suck up the ghosts of course. But, Bucky always preferred the year they thrifted an Indiana Jones costume for himself and a Marion Ravenwood for a not as happy Steve.Every year, the Barnes' family had a tradition of going to the local orchard, getting donuts and freshly made cider before riding their state-wide famous "haunted hayride"; it always gave Steve the excuse to pretend he was scared and lean into Bucky's side, though he always saw through his ruse.From earning a few extra dollars from raking leaves (and fighting in them) to hoarding candy and telling scary stories late at night, they really did enjoy, what they considered to be, "Halloween month".





	1. Fall

It was one of those evenings that made it clear the seasons were in transition from summer to early fall; still humid enough to walk around in a muscle top during the day, but crisp enough to be digging for denim at night. The nights came quicker and the free concerts the crickets had been offering all summer were slowly coming to a standstill.

No, instead now the soft buzzing of bugs was being replaced with gusts of wind as the air peeked its way into the open microphone slot of Bucky’s headphones. And under his boots, twigs snapped and all the fallen leaves were orange enough to crunch in a way that sounded like a snapping spaghetti noodle.

He was walking back from the store, a canvas tote slung over his shoulder and still a long block away from their apartment. See, _he’d_ been that one that foolishly ran out in a muscle tank because it was laundry day, and when he’d left, the sun was still saying hello. Hell, he’d even had his sunglasses on; it was so nice, that’s why he had decided to walk instead of just driving (and then cursing under his breath as he tried to find a parking spot in that shitty lot).

Goosebumps coated his arms, probably his legs too but he didn’t want to stop for even a second to look down. There’d been a frown deeply nesting itself on Bucky’s face— until he saw a certain blond walking towards him, scarf looped around one hand and jacket thrown over his shoulder.

“My savior,” Bucky husked, tugging the jacket firstly from an all too satisfied looking Steve.

“I was trying to stop you before you left, but you ran out the door. You’re still dressing like it’s July— it’s October first tomorrow, Buck.”

“Wishful thinking, I guess?”

“Don’t think that’s how it works…”

The scarf Steve’d brought was this chunky, beyond long thing that they’d found at a thrift store once, for _fifty_ cents. Sure it was falling apart and some of the knitting had come undone, but it felt like a cloud around his neck, and he could wrap it around at least three times before it got to be too bulky to sit in place.

“Sure it is,” Bucky readjusted the bag and slung his arm over Steve’s shoulders, tugging him against him. “S’like groundhogs day. You believe hard enough in spring coming, or in this case summer staying, it’ll work. Trust me, I watch the news, I know how weather works.”

Steve snorted, shaking his head. “Wasn’t _Groundhogs Day_ the movie where Bill Murray gets stuck in time and then snaps and steals a groundhog in the end? Oh! And he kisses that grandma."

“I think so, rings a bell,” Bucky rocked his head from side to side before scoffing. ” I’d steal a groundhog too though, those motherfuckers are cute.” Which only made Steve snort _again_ and even louder.

“But I’m talking about the historical event where Punxsutawney Phil predicts the future, or whatever the hell, you know what I mean. Be serious Steve, c’mon.” Bucky nudged him, but the longer Steve stared at him with his lips parted and brows quirked, Bucky found it harder and harder to keep a straight face, losing at his own charade.

“Okay, _sorry,_ ” Steve said between wheezes, laughing against him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“So, it’s the first day of fall tomorrow, huh?”

Steve passed him a can of corn; he was sitting up on the counter top, grocery bag falling over against his thigh and really taking up more space slash being a complete nuisance rather than being actually helpful. Not like Bucky even cared though. He enjoyed the conversation. Hell lot better than putting all this shit away himself in silence and having to resort to humming incomplete songs (out of key), alone.

“No… the first day of fall was September 22nd, Buck.”

Bucky scooted his way around the kitchen, giving Steve a gentle scooch as he opened the pantry door above his head. “September?” he muttered out of the side of his mouth. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“And why’s that?”

“‘cause, October is fall. September is— “ he waved his hand before scratching the back of his neck, trying to piece together his logic as he went along, “that’s summer!”

Steve rolled his eyes, handing Bucky a box of Kraft (yeah yeah, totally unhealthy and gross but made for a great midnight snack when neither of them gave enough of a damn to _actually_ cook).

But, _fall_. Bucky’s favorite time of the year, that was for sure (he didn’t like the summer in particular, but he did like July, for obvious reasons, because the fourth always gave them an excuse for their  annual weekend getaway).

Fall was one of the two two seasons Steve always used as an excuse to cling to Bucky's side, his hands wrapped around the sleeves of his jacket, or, like when he'd steal Bucky's scarves or tie the one he’d already been wearing around his own neck because, " _it's cold, Buck_ ."

There was this sweater Bucky had; he’d got it in Virginia at some mall he’d spent the day at once because his cousins wanted to go to the arcade and fuck around, and Bucky was the only one old enough to act like their chaperone (though he couldn’t drive at the time, but he knew how to use the buses, at least well enough, and could pass off for being eighteen at least). It was thick and made of wool, a rich variation of grays and Steve loved it even more than Bucky did.

Every time he’d spend the night, and this wasn’t an exaggeration because he honestly went rustling around his drawers without hesitation just to find that thing, he’d wear his sweater. Wear it all night and pass out in it, waking up gross and sweaty. Then he’d wear it the next day to school and never ‘remember’ to return it back to him.

Bucky tried to not care. He liked the thing too, but it just suited Steve better anyways. And, another thing Steve was always stealing— his _coffee_.

" _C'mon, share, it's_ cold.” Steve would whine. He’d curl his fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and snatch the thing away from him right as Bucky was about to go in for another sip. He’d hand it back to him with only a couple of drops left in the mug— Bucky always sighed in defeat and gave up, making him a fresh cup of coffee.

“You’d ever want to go for a hike in the woods?” A little out of the blue, but now his mind was thinking about everything October: pumpkin spice, zombie movie marathons, scaring the shit out of Steve with crappy plastic masks. _Classic._

“ _What_?” Steve said, flat.

“I unno. Just trying to think of shit we do in the fall.”

“And we’ve _never_ gone hiking before. Ever.”

“Then we should start, Steve. We’ve already missed a good chunk of the season—” (“No we haven’t,” Steve said under his breath) ”—see, the thing about the woods is, that’s where werewolves like to live. And you know what month the werewolves come out.”

“Uh,” Steve scratched the back of his head. “Can’t we just watch _Teen Wolf_ instead? From the comfort of our couch, _inside._ ”

“I mean, I wasn't talking about _right_ now,” he grabbed Steve’s hand, putting it over his grumbling stomach. “You feel that? My stomach’s actually crying, it’s so hungry. So, yeah, movie on the couch sounds great right now.” As Steve pulled his arm away, Bucky added, “Should still consider exploring the woods though. You never know Steve, we’d be so rich if we ever found a werewolf.

“Oh my God, I never realized you were one of those loch ness monster guys, Jesus.”

“I’ll find Nessie too, you just wait.”

“I’ll support you in whatever you want to do, honey,” Steve said, dry.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After they’d realized they didn’t actually _own Teen Wolf_ in their, dare it be called _excessive_ , DVD collection, they’d opted for _Friday the Thirteenth_ instead as a good way to start off the holiday. Yes, October was a holiday, not a month. They’d finished eating the cardboard pizza Bucky’d picked up and now Steve was stretched out across the couch, his feet tapping against Bucky’s lap. He had a sketchbook in his own, and the sound of his pencil tracing back and forth over lines, darkening them, was loud enough to hear over the movie.

Or, maybe Bucky was just more focused on Steve. He admittedly was starting to zone in and out; it was like someone left tape over his eyes. He’d blink and everything turned to a buffering 144p video until he’d have to blink it away, again, hard, and everything would return to normal.

He threw his head back, pinching the bridge of his nose. Steve was still squinting down at his notepad, brows lowered in heavy concentration. His cheeks were sucked in and, there might’ve been a faint smudge of graphite on his chin, but Bucky couldn’t tell if that was a shadow or not.

He cherished when they could sit in a comfortable silence, because they didn’t need to talk to understand each other, and enjoy each other’s company. _But_ , it was in times like this, when Bucky was grasping onto consciousness by the scraggliest of strings that he needed to talk, or else he’d be knocked out and snoring in the next few minutes.

And he wanted to be awake with Steve, because that was definitely more fun than going to sleep and having to face another long day of work.

“What’re you drawing?”

Steve looked up at him, biting his lower lip for a split second before he tucked his pencil behind his ear. He turned around his notebook and Bucky couldn’t even stop himself from grinning. He let out a sharp puff of air from his nostrils.

It was him, sitting on their couch with his arms stretched out and leg crossed, dressed the exact same way he was right now, except— his bare arms were coated in a thin layer of hair, and his face was a bit more… wolf shaped than normal. Yeah, Steve had made him a werewolf and honestly it was pretty damn cool.

In the great debate of werewolves vs vampires, Bucky always sided with the latter. But now he was starting to grow a soft spot for the monsters and regretted ever being a Nosferatu fan.

“That’s awesome, bud,” he chuckled.

“Was just so curious to see what you’d look like. Honestly, not that bad.”

“Yeah? You’d still like me if I was covered in fur, Steve?”

“You’d be softer, that’s for sure. Plus I always wanted a pet dog.”

“Ain’t your dog…”

And then the silence returned. Steve flexed his ankles, shaking his feet around, unable to sit still until Bucky ran his hand down his shin, slowly. Steve sighed.

"Buck," his voice was kept quiet as he kept moving his pencil up and down the paper, retracing lines and forming new ones.

"Hm?" Bucky shut his eyes. Risky move, but he couldn’t keep them open any longer.

"You remember when we were kids—” Bucky could hear Steve chuckling, and then the sound of his pencil scraping came to a pause. “Was always when the winter was coming ‘round or whatever and I was uh, often times stealing your clothes or askin’ to sleep in your bed ‘cause I was freezing my ass off?”

"Yeah. I remember. You were always a clingy lil shit since we first met.”

Steve scoffed. “You know— I never did any of those things just ‘cause it was cold out. Wasn’t actually afraid of thunderstorms either.” But then he stopped himself and Bucky peeped an eye open to see Steve holding up a finger. “No, I am— _was_ —scared of lightning, but it also worked as a good excuse.”

“You’re pathetic.”

“I am not,” he pouted. “Well, maybe just a little.”

Bucky snickered. “S’okay. I still like you anyways. ‘Course I knew that, Stevie.” He ruffled his fingers through his hair.

 

* * *

 


	2. Leaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve were supposed to be cleaning up the leaves from the Barnes' yard, as per requested by Bucky's mom, but playing in them just sounded so much better.

* * *

 

 

"Oh my God, _Stevie,_ you're supposed to be pickin' them up, not making an even bigger mess," Bucky leaned the handle of his rake into the crook of his elbow, dark brows raising at Steve. He was merely kicking the scattered faded-orange leaves across the sidewalk.

"Yeah, I know," he crouched to a knee, gathering a handful of maple leaves. With a quick swoop of his arm, he tossed them at Bucky, eyes crinkling with a throaty chuckle as they caught in his curled hair. "This is more fun though, don'tcha think?"

"Sure," he shook his head with a low groan, "but we ain't gonna get mom’s leftovers if you just," he gestured wildly, rake hitting the pavement with a loud thud, "toss 'em about."

"C'mon Buck, learn to live a little," Steve pinched his cheek, only to have his hand swatted away with a roll of Bucky's eyes.

"You remember when we were kids," Steve shuffled over to a pile Bucky had neatly been stacking. He winced as his back flattened his hard work. "Use to always play in these. Dunno why they were so fun, don't really see the appeal now," he scratched the back of his neck, nose scrunching.

"Guess they sorta seemed like mountains as a kid," Bucky reached over, tugging on the cuff of Steve's taupe coat. "God, Steve, get _up_. Spent half an hour doin' that, don't need you to ruin it already."

"Join me," Steve's fingers wrapped around Bucky's wrist; he stumbled over his own feet as Steve abruptly tugged him down. Pushing out a loud huff of a breath, he spun around on his heel, laying beside his best friend.

His head rubbed against the leaves, uncomfortable and itchy and a few pine-cones thrown into the mix. But as he met Steve's blue eyes, full of childlike wonder and joy, he felt a grin growing across his own face, blindly searching for Steve's hand, their cold fingers lacing.

"Can sorta see the appeal," he husked.

Steve whispered back with a squeeze, "there's the spirit."

"What're you boys doing?" Bucky’s mom's voice traveled throughout the chilled evening air, their heads craning in her direction. Immediately, they shot up, knocking foreheads as they scurried to grab their rakes, Steve swooping the long forgotten black construction bag into his arms.

 

 

* * *

 


	3. Pumpkin patch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky pick out their pumpkins for carving this year. While sitting in Bucky's old beat up Buick, they reminiscence about shenanigans from when they were younger.

* * *

 

 

“Jesus Steve, really?” Bucky, hands placed firm on either side of his hips, watched with his lips sucked in as Steve hoisted a pumpkin nearly twice the size of his head into the trunk of Bucky’s old Buick.

Letting out a huffy sigh, Steve shrugged, falling against the side of the car. He was hunched over, gripping his knees as he gave Bucky a tired half grin. “Better to have more space to work with, Buck. Unlike yours,” he straightened his posture, back cracking as he spun on his heel, flicking Bucky’s pie-sized pumpkin with his fingers.

“Don’t need a buncha space. Already got an amazing idea in mind,” Bucky smirked at him, slamming the trunk close with a loud _clink_.

“Yeah?” Steve was smiling back at him with a wrinkle of his nose.

“Oh yeah. S’gonna blow your socks off,” he skirted around to the driver’s side, opening the door and sliding in. He twisted his torso, watching Steve sit down and throw his feet up on the dashboard.

“Off,” he grimaced, slapping his slender legs.

“Come on, my shoes are clean,” Steve gestured with a hand, his brows raising.

“No they ain’t. We’ve been tracking in mud all day,” he hooked his arm around his shins, forcing him to move. “ _Off_.”

“Fine," Steve grumbled, shifting in his seat. Chuckling under his breath, he leaned his elbow against the window, looking at Bucky. “You remember when we were about, I unno, fifteen or something and we hopped the fence at Green Meadows?”

Bucky leaned forward against the wheel, crossing his arms. “Yeah. Snatched up coupla pumpkins.”

“Ear of corn too,” Steve added.

“‘Course, right. Can’t forget that,” he laughed, shaking his head. “That was all ‘cause Clint called you ‘ _vanilla_ ’. Got yourself so worked up, had smoke practically comin’ outta your ears.”

“Hey, I just wanted to prove him wrong.”

“And you did,” he squeezed Steve’s knobby knee. “Almost got us arrested too, goddamn idiot.”

“Whatever,” Steve leaned back against the headrest, skin flushing as he scratched the back of his neck. “At least my mom used them.”

Bucky snorted, nodding. “She use to make helluva good pies, huh?”

“The best.”

Bucky peered over his shoulder. “Bet yours could make, like, twenty pies.”

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve warned, his forehead creasing. “If I wake up in the morning to you baking, I swear…”

“Swear what, Steve?”

“I’ll, uh,” Steve scratched at his chin, snapping his fingers a second later, “hide all the Halloween candy.”

“Steve.” Bucky said flat. “I’m a fully grown man. Want more Halloween candy, just drive to the store and pick it up myself.”

A wide grin was breaking across Steve’s face. “Yeah okay,” he leaned closer to Bucky, poking the small xenomorph he had hanging from his keys.

“What? You tryin’ to use that against me?” he grabbed Steve’s wrist, giving him a small shake. “Kids don’t know what _Alien_ is Steve. S’adult collectible only.”

“Whatever helps you sleep better at night, Buck.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, twisting the key to start the car’s engine. “Shuddup.”

“Make me,” Steve teased.

With a metal click of his seat belt, Bucky was leaning across the console, practically tumbling onto Steve. Cupping the nape of his neck, their noses bumped, the air from his short laughs warm.

“M’okay,” he leaned closer, breaking the gap between them.

 

* * *

 


	4. Witches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While out and about in Manhattan one afternoon, Steve spots a used bookstore and drags Bucky inside to escape the increasingly cold weather.

* * *

 

 

"As much as I love fall," small puffs of visible air left his mouth as Steve softly spoke, clutching firmly onto the sleeve of Bucky's wool coat, nails tugging fabric under his grip, "don't really like that it means winter's right around the corner."

"S'not that bad, Steve," Bucky pulled at his own scarf with his free hand, side-eyeing a nearby used book store, "'least you don't gotta shovel the driveway anymore."

" _God_ , yeah," wetting his dry lips, Steve followed the direction of Bucky's stare, pulling them over towards the rundown brick building. With a light chime of bells, he shimmied the door open, the both of them shivering in the heat of the store. Its walls were full of shelves, crammed with old books and the smell of burning incense lingered in the air; Bucky wondered if they had any science fiction pulps he hadn't yet read.

"Thing about the driveway was," Steve unlatched himself from Bucky's side, wandering further into the store, floorboards faintly squeaking under each step he took, "the neighbor kids always played in it. So there I'd be, workin' my ass off for three hours, trying to get it clean enough so mom's tires wouldn't skid out, and — look over my shoulder, little Jimmy's fucking making _snow angels_  in my piles."

"Hmm," Bucky hummed, smirk dancing across his face as he flicked the back of Steve's neck, "sorta like how you completely destroyed my pile of leaves?"

Steve's skin had instantly flushed at that, unevenly blotching different shades of pink under the thick of his freckles. He scratched at the back of his skull, finger teetering a book back and forth. "Not the same thing."

"You sure?" He ruffled Steve's already messy blond locks, chuckling to himself as he swatted him away.

"'m positive," he said with an unconvincing nod, spinning on his heel.

"Okay Stevie. Whatever you say."

Steve blindly searched for Bucky's hand behind his back — he took hold of him, allowing himself to be lead to the very back of the store. Among smaller trinkets and potted succulents was a wooden table with silver tin buckets, full to the brim of assorted colorful stones. Bucky had to physically bite his tongue and urge himself not to roll his eyes.

He watched as Steve intently stared down one of the buckets in particular, running his teeth against his lower lip. Dragging his fingers through the stacked rocks, he plucked one out. He turned it over in his palm; small and smoothed over, a light orange. With the same hand, he reached for a small paper pamphlet, forehead creasing as his brows knitted, matching the stone to its depicted picture.

"Don't tell me you're _seriously_ thinking about getting one of those things," Bucky tapped on the stone's surface with a nail.

Steve shrugged, jacket wrinkling at his shoulders. "Maybe."

"Steve," Bucky couldn't help but sigh, low and deep. His thumb was rubbing over Steve's calloused knuckles. "All that stuff's made up. Crystals, healing powers, s'buncha mumbo jumbo."

"I dunno, Buck."

" _Steve,_ " he groaned this time. With a halfhearted attempt at trying to lead Steve back to the front of the store, maybe towards those science fiction novels, his resistance almost shocked him (but, key word there being,  _almost_. He _knew_ how stubborn Steve was.) Steve firmly shifted his weight in place, eyes narrowing at Bucky in a less playful manner.

"Okay, maybe you don't believe in this stuff, but let me just look. Alright?" Steve released Bucky's hand to search around for another stone, the rocks clattering together as he moved them. The one he held now was clear.

"Since when did you start caring 'bout this kinda stuff?" he leaned an elbow against the side of a bookshelf, lazily watching Steve. "You becoming a witch or something?"

"No," Bucky could hear the irritation growing quickly in Steve's voice. He pushed himself from his semi-relaxed position, hunching over to level with Steve. The whites of his eyes had reddened and his normally bright, sparkling blues were muted.

"I didn't mean to upset you. I'm just joking around." Bucky could feel his heart clench and tense, the tips of his ears burning from a mixture of shame and slight embarrassment.

"I know you are," Steve cupped his fingers around the stones, nostrils flaring as he shakily exhaled. "I'm just worried about my mom, Bucky. And, it's not that I actually believe in this stuff," he looked over his own shoulder briefly then back at Bucky, "more that I just wanna give her something that she can keep with her and'll make her think of me so she doesn't feel so alone."

Bucky pushed out a smile for him, though he could feel it faltering the longer he tried to hold it. He cupped the nape of Steve's neck, brushing their noses together. His tone grew to something of a whisper, "think she'd really appreciate that, buddy."

A light chuckle escaped Steve as he held the orange stone between two fingers, pamphlet squeezed in the crux of his elbow. "The thing said this one's supposed to be for balancing out emotions and getting rid of fear."

"What's the other one?"

"It's uh, for helpin' with diseases and all that," he could see tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Tasting salt rising in the back of his own throat, he snaked an arm around his back, tightly pulling the shorter man into him. He rested his chin atop Steve's head, hair tickling at his stubble.

"'m so scared, James," Steve mumbled against his shirt. "I can't lose her. Not now. I still need her."

He pressed his lips against the side of his head, lingering there a second too long, but possibly not long enough for Steve. "You wanna go visit her today? Can go to Anopoli first, get coupla malts and some fries."

"Okay."

"Okay?" he stroked up and down the length of Steve's back, rubbing small circles against the curve of his spine. "Can even play some, mm, Elvis or something on the jukebox."

Steve sniffled, loud in the quiet store. Peering up at Bucky, his cheeks were redder than before and now streaked in tears — he wiped the cuff of his jacket harshly, and hastily, against them. His wet, long lashes fluttered against his cheeks as dimples begun to form. "That sounds like fun."

"Yeah, I know. So, c'mon," Bucky's eyes settled on a stack of pocket-sized velvet drawstring bags. He snatched one up, gathering the rocks from Steve. "This all you want?"

He nodded again. "I'm sorry. Didn't really give you a chance to look around," Steve said hushed. Bucky glanced behind him, sucking in his lips as he spotted _The Martian Chronicles_ sitting atop the checkout counter, displayed on a wooden frame.

"Think I actually see something I don't have yet." Steve craned his neck, chuckling fully now.

"Christ, what's with you and sci-fi, huh? Always been obsessed with it since we were kids."

"Well," hand still placed against the small of his back, Bucky took them to the counter, smiling at the woman sitting behind it, her legs were crossed over one another; she licked the tip of her finger, turning a page of the book in her hands. "My mom _did_  always say I was from another planet. Maybe it just makes me feel more at home."

"I mean, that makes sense to me. You're not like anyone I've ever met before."

"That a bad thing?"

Steve winked. "'course not."

 

* * *

 

 

 


	5. Having a cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's always a little whiny baby when he gets sick. Bucky, being too kind to him, takes off work again so he can become Steve's servant for a day. Steve, being woozy, probably from lack of sleep and too much cough syrup, ends up revealing to Bucky his deepest, darkest secret (not really, but hell it's embarrassing and Bucky's gonna hold this over him for a long, long time):
> 
> He knows every word to The Little Mermaid.

 

* * *

 

As per tradition, Bucky’s daily six AM alarm blared into his ears, the sound of a classic sci-fi woosh pulling him from his dreams — they’d been pulling all-nighters for the past week now, trying to get their Halloween costumes finished in time for Nat’s party (she was actually having one again this year instead of using her go-to excuse of _Lucky’s birthday_ ). They’d been marathoning Bucky’s collection of classic black and white after finishing some of his top favorites (not  _Alien_ though, Steve was sick of that one) movies to pass the time; after watching _The Thing (_ followed by _Bladerunner_ , as always) and ‘ _It Came from Outer Space_ ’, Steve’d gotten the wise idea to change all of Bucky’s alarms and ringtones to sounds straight from his favorite films. Sure it annoyed the hell out of him, but he’d be lying to himself if he said it didn’t bring a huge, cheesy grin to his face every time, even when he was groggily waking up for work.

Searching for his phone with one hand, eyes still squeezed shut, Bucky sloppily dragged a finger across his cracked screen, vibrations halting. Steve stirred against his side, sighing under a soft exhale. Steve sniffled, and that got Bucky’s ears perking, one eye peeking open. His left arm was still snaked around Steve’s back and so with his right, he pressed the back of his palm against Steve’s clammy forehead, groaning to himself.

He was clearly running a fever, which probably meant that he caught another cold (Steve was always getting sick, but it was ten times worse in the fall, combination of the cold weather and his allergies acting up) which _also_ meant that Bucky was going to have to call in sick for work, the thirteenth time this year. He secretly prayed to himself that Steve would finally stop being a baby and learn to take care of himself; grown ass man, living on his own, yet still couldn’t make his own chicken noodle soup.

“Awh, Stevie,” Bucky lulled, reluctantly swinging his feet off the bed. God, he was exhausted and wanted nothing more than a big cup of coffee (or ten), but he knew he’d now have to spend the rest of the day as Steve’s slave. He was always so bossy when he was sick; “ _Buckkk_ , the tea ain’t hot enough” or “I wanna bubble bath James, but ‘m too tired to move. Carry me?”. Bucky loved Steve more than anything, couldn’t imagine himself being with anyone else, but he also knew in the back of his mind that there wasn’t a single person on this Earth that could put up with all of Steve’s shit, other than himself of course.

Stumbling over to their walk in closet, nearly tripping over his feet he was so uncoordinated, he reached for a quilted blanket that was tucked away on the upper storage shelf. Bundling it into his arms, he turned on his heels, spreading it across the bed and over Steve’s shoulders. That blanket was something Bucky’s mom made for Steve one Christmas when they were kids. He’d always sleep for it every time he caught a cold and just never grew out of that habit. Bucky figured it was comforting to him.

He crawled back under the covers, jostling Steve as he pulled him closer again, cheekbone pressed against the side of Steve’s head. “You not feeling good?”

Another sniffle. “‘m throat hurts.”

“Sorry Steve,” his short hair tickled Bucky’s nose as he planted a gentle kiss against him. “Gonna take the day off, so you just tell me what you need, alright?”

“Gotta headache too.” Bucky was trying to bite his tongue. Instead of saying anything, he decided to stroke down Steve’s side, gliding over the piled fabric of his too loose shirt; was originally the shirt Bucky use to wear for his team’s science competitions in high school, but Steve was always wearing it anyways, so he just gave it to him.

“We’re gonna get you feelin’ better. We’re gonna rest, spend the day in bed, and uh, hey, maybe we can watch _The Little Mermaid_ or something. Just got it on Blu-ray for you, you know,” he said in forced sing-song tone.

“Ugh, I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

That finally got Bucky huffing, flicking Steve’s ear (“Jackass!”). “Quit your fuckin’ whining. You’re acting like you’re about to die, which you’re _not_.”

“But, _Bucky_ ,” Bucky hated when Steve said his name like that, made him want to crawl out of his skin, “it feels like I am.” He coughed, breath warm and too much in Bucky’s face.

“You’re _not._ ” Bucky awkwardly twisted his torso, grabbing Steve’s inhaler from his own pillow case. He shoved it into the pocket of his sweatpants. “Don’t cough on me Steve, Jesus.”

Steve pressed his nose — god, it was _wet_ and Bucky wanted to scream — into the crook of his neck. “ _Ugh._ ”

“You’re so lucky you have me, you know that?” Bucky shrugged, trying to get some separation between Steve’s disgustingly runny nose and his skin.

“I know. You’re too good to me, Buck,” he said, muffled.

“Yeah, I am. ‘Kay, I’m gonna go call my boss and,” he cupped his chin, pulling Steve to face him. His skin, which was already pale, was looking even paler, resulting in Steve matching the color of a ghost (hey, maybe that could be his costume this year instead). There were dark rings under his puffy eyes, reddened at the corners and his lips were dry. Bucky sucked in his lower lip, trying not to laugh at how horrible Steve looked. He continued, “you want anything? Think we got some cans of soup or, maybe a box of macaroni left over.”

“Cherry coke and three scoops of ice cream with chocolate sauce, and those rainbow sprinkles. Please.” Steve’s brows raised.

“...seriously? Ain’t all that sugar just gonna make you feel worse? And the soda— you said your throat was hurting.”

“And you said anythinggg—” he started to pout but Bucky immediately cut him with a kiss before he gained a headache of his own.

“You better not get me sick,” Bucky flicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, letting Steve go as he found himself back on his feet. He set the inhaler on Steve’s nightstand. “ _Fine._ But only one scoop, no syrup and _maybe_ sprinkles. No promises though.”

 

* * *

 

“‘m done,” Steve’s voice was getting raspier, more nasally, within the hour. He held out his chocolate coated bowl, metal spoon rattling against the ceramic.

Bucky took it from him with a roll of his eyes, trailing to the kitchen as he dropped it in the sink. His feet were already hurting from all the back and forth walking Steve was forcing him to do. He’d called into work earlier and was met with a warning, next day off was going unpaid, which was just _great_. He wanted to hop in the shower, really needed one too, but then Steve was calling out “ _James_ ” and next thing he knows, he’s digging around for a pack of cards because Steve just ‘really, really wanna play Old Maid, Buck’.

His palms pressed flat against the counter top. He sighed through his nostrils, just trying to catch his breath for a minute. His eyes traveled to the mess that was their living room. It was a complete wreck, covered in scattered bits of felt and fabric strips, paper towels with dried paint left on their coffee table. Made him feel a tinge of giddiness though, making him think of when they went to that comic convention and created their own costumes from scratch; they’d been dressed as Ghostbusters, their shared favorite movie since childhood, and worked their asses off. Paid off when they won best craftsmanship in the costume contest — ever since then, they’d gotten into crafting things together, and now they were working on complimenting Han Solo and Luke costumes.

He passed one of their bookshelves, loosening _The Little Mermaid_ and _Aladdin_. He leaned against the door frame to the bedroom, looking over the DVDs. He waved them in Steve’s direction, who was nodding off.

“Stevie,” Steve’s eyes widened, meeting Bucky’s, “which one first?”

“Ariel,” he cooed in response, Bucky grinning at him. Bucky grabbed his laptop from Steve’s corner desk, throwing himself down next to Steve. He pulled it open, popping the disc in.

“Would bring you out there and watch it on the big tv, but,” Steve was leaning all his weight against Bucky’s shoulder, his fingers interlocking with Bucky’s. He kissed the top of his head, adjusting the volume as he traced over the trackpad. “You know how crazy it is out there. Don’t have the energy to clean off the couch.”

“S’fine, Buck. This is better. Warm and comfy.”

“Just,” he squeezed his hand, “lemme know if you’re gonna fall asleep, okay? Can turn it off and let you rest,” he yawned, “wouldn’t mind a nap myself.”

“I’ll stay awake, promise.”

Bucky looked down at him, half chuckling. Bits of the movie started replaying as the title screen loaded in, a blue arrow flashing next to the bold letters of ‘play’. “You don’t _have_ to—”

“Ohmygod, Buuuuck,” — Bucky was again gritting his teeth, god, why is Steve so _fucking_ whiny, does he think it’s cute? — “There’s a sing along option.”

“No.”

“Please,” Steve’s lip quivered.

“ _No._ ”

“Fine. We don’t have to,” and then Steve muttered something under his breath that Bucky didn’t quite catch.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

Slowly wiggling his way under the covers, he pulled Steve down with him, nuzzling up against their stacked pillows. He balanced the computer on his hip, laying on his side, using Steve’s shoulder as his headrest this time. He felt Steve trailing through his curls, blunt nails scraping his neck.

Bucky’d never really been a Disney kinda guy. Sure, there were some classics he liked, _Snow White_ being one of them. But, that was really more of Steve’s realm — he did take an acting class in high school and tried out at the community theater a couple of times, but he wasn’t huge into musicals. Appreciated them sure, but he didn’t mind being kept as far away as possible from them. ‘Course though, Steve _loved_ Disney and _The Little Mermaid_ was something he had to re-watch over and over again growing up. He could probably quote the entire movie himself if he really had to.

Bucky always dreamed of taking Steve to Disneyland, saving up enough that they could go for a few days and then maybe explore the rest of California (the Tar Pits seemed pretty cool). Bringing Steve to the land of ‘his people’ might be a hell of a bad mistake though. God knows how he’d react, probably tackle Mickey Mouse to the ground and get them banned for life.

“ _Look at this stuff, isn’t it neat? Wouldn’t you think my collection’s complete?”_ Steve was humming in his ear. Bucky turned his neck, painfully slow, lost for words.

 “What… what’re you… the fuck.”

 _"Wouldn’t you think I’m the girl_ — actually I’m a boy and watch your language — _who has everything?”_

Bucky shoved Steve, which got him grabbing at his wrists, their eyes locking intently. He really wished he’d shut up, but of course, he only got louder, singing _to_ him. “ _Look at this trove, treasures untold, how many wonders can one cavern hold?”_

“I dunno, but I don’t want to find out,” Bucky grumbled.

“Too baaad, cause you’re gonna,” he rubbed their noses together before spreading his arms wide, either side of him. “ _Lookin’ around here you’d think, sure, she’s got everything. I’ve got gadgets,”_ Bucky rolled his eyes and Steve jabbed his side, “ _and gizmos aplenty. I’ve got whozits and whazits galore._ Buck, c’mon, join me.”

“Absolutely not,” he spat.

“ _P_ _lease_ ,” he tugged on Bucky’s sleeve, “I know you know it. What’s the next line, c’mon.”

Bucky had to close his eyes and regain his focus, his head spinning. He couldn’t believe he was going to do this; he hated singing, he hated how he sounded when he sang, and he couldn’t decide what he felt more, embarrassed or frustrated. He tried not to think about it as he puffed his cheeks, his tone deep and very much out of tune with Ariel’s. “... _you want thingamabobs? I got twenty.”_

Steve was absolutely beaming back at him as he continued, “ _But who cares? No big deal,”_ he nudged Bucky again as they said in unison, “ _I want moreeee.”_

Suddenly, Steve was kicking free from the blankets, nearly knocking the laptop to the ground. He jumped to his feet, albeit wobbly, and pointed at Bucky with wiggling fingers. “ _I want to be where the people are, I want to see_ — _want to see ‘em dancin’. Walkin’ around on those, whad’ya call em?”_

 _“_ Feet.”

“Right! And what do you need them for?”

“Rogers,” Bucky warned, patting the mattress firmly. “Sit your ass back down or I’ll make you. You’re _sick_ , remember?”  
  
“I know, but,” Steve sniffled, Bucky cocking his head in return. Steve puffed out a laugh, sitting back down. His eyes glanced at the screen before bouncing to the wall and then Bucky.  
  
“What? You look upset, you okay?” Bucky brushed his thumb over his jaw.  
  
“I just…” he bit his lip, “ _When’s it my turn? Wouldn’t I love, love to explore that shore above? Out of the sea, wish I could be…”_

 _“_ Part of that world, yeah yeah, whatever.” Any ounce of annoyance he had before had drained from his system. All he could feel right at that moment was love and affection for the kid he’d always been in love with. He found himself closing the space between them; he really might get sick at this point, but god, he didn’t care. Steve was always getting him sick, and Bucky wasn’t a baby about it. He’d suck it up and still go to work anyways, didn’t matter if he was coughing his head off.  
  
Pulling away, he asked quietly, “Can we just watch the movie now? In silence.”  
  
“But I know all the words…”

“I can see that.”  
  
Steve was looking at him expectantly and so Bucky cracked, ducking his head. “Christ, fine. But I ain’t joining you.”  
  
“B-but, the duets!”  
  
Bucky smacked his palm over Steve’s lips. “ _No more._ ”

 

* * *

 


	6. Costumes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, Bucky ended up catching Steve's cold (it really was his own fault, hanging all over him). And to make things worse, Natasha changed the date of her party to that upcoming Saturday. 
> 
> Bucky, already having thrown up twice that morning and feeling like a truck ran him over, really didn't want to go (well, he did, for Steve, but he also didn't). Everything just gets worse when Natasha calls them and asks them to pick up Clint.

 

 

* * *

 

Even though it was getting closer to four o’clock, Bucky was still lounging around in his sweatpants, stretched across their couch — they finally managed to clear everything off it, piling their leftover scraps from their costuming endeavors in a corner of the room. He was cradling a box of tissues in the nook of his elbow, sneezing before he could manage to pull another out. About a week had passed since Steve’s ‘ _baby fit_ ’, aka what Bucky liked to call Steve's whiny tantrums when he was sick. In the end, Steve _did_ end up giving him his cold, and it definitely sucked. Had to go to work with a stuffy head, downing a bottle of Dayquil like a Monster energy. Stuck to his word though. He wasn’t gonna be a baby about it, unlike someone he knew (he narrowed his eyes at the blond who was looking right back at him).

He'd pushed through his day, although drowsy and almost missing his train stop on the way home. Only thing that kept him sane was reminding himself, when he got back, he could take a long, hot shower (maybe get Steve to join him), have some of that new tea he'd been wanting to try, sleep for a bit with all the lights off. But, when he _did_ get back, he was greeted by an overly bright screen pressed to the tip of his nose. Steve frantically explained that Nat decided to suddenly change the date of her party; the blurry text reading: "Schedule conflict, Clint's call. Sorry. Can't wait to see you all tonight! ♥".

He could never catch a break.

Thankfully it had been a Friday and he wasn't scheduled to work the next day, because Steve forced them to stay up all night, finishing their Star Wars costumes. Hadn't gotten any rest until five in the morning, and Bucky was thinking that's probably why he now felt even worse, throwing up after the thirty minute nap Steve allowed him.

“You think you’re still gonna be up for going tonight?” Steve was biting his nail, bumping Bucky's knee with his socked foot. He was balancing himself on the armrest opposite of Bucky's head.

"Christ, I 'on't know, 'teve," he took in a deep breath, willing himself not to sneeze again.

"It's Steve, actually."

Bucky wanted to punch that smug grin right off his face. Instead, he opted for something a little less violent and rolled his eyes, pushing himself up with an elbow. "I guess we can try. Maybe we ‘hould, uh, tell her I'm 'orta 'ick 'o they can keep me contained in my own woom or 'ome shit."

"Is it really _that_ bad or are you just being dramatic?" Steve was sucking in his lower lip and it made Bucky groan out of frustration. Steve went on non-stop the entire week: 'ow, my arm's numb' or ' _ughhh_ , Bucky, my lip's bleeding _again_. Kiss it and make it feel better?', but Bucky wasn't allowed one measly complaint?

"' _teve_ ," Bucky rested his back against the couch, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ("Steve") he heard him say in his muffled ears and, he really felt like he was going to explode. He bit his tongue before continuing, "I threw up thi’ mornin'. Twice. Sh'pretty bad."

And that got Steve to slide down from his spot, putting a hand on Bucky's thigh. His face had fallen, eyes growing soft. "You did? Why didn't you tell me that?"

"'caushh I twook 'ome more," he blew his nose. He was fucking tired of this nasally bullshit. He wanted his 's's back, he _desperately_ missed them. Starting again, "’cause I took some more cough syrup or medicine, whatever I don't know what the hell I took. Coupla pills and that gross pink shit. Was hoping it'd get better before tonight."

"Okay, well," Steve distractedly played with the drawstrings of Bucky's pants. He smacked his hand away, deciding to hold it instead. "It's really not that big of a deal if we don't go."

"Yeah, I know it ain't," he sighed, "but I also know you've been looking forward to this and I don't wanna be a party pooper. Plus," he added with a faint laugh, "we've been workin' even harder on these ones than the Ghostbusters, kinda wanna finally show 'em off."

"Honey, we can just play it by ear, okay?" Steve leaned into his side, and so Bucky wrapped his arm around his back, pulling him closer. "You start feeling worse, we don't go. Or, when we get there and you need to go, we can."

"Fine. Sounds good." Throwing his head back, he willed his eyes to close. "S'all your fault, you know."

" _My_ fault?" Steve squeaked.

"Yeah," he squeezed his hand, "you gave me your," Bucky started violently coughing, releasing Steve to hunch over himself, patting his chest with a wince. "I'm gonna fuckin' die."

From the corner of his blurred eyes (tears were now welling up, 'cause shit, this hurt) he could see Steve pointing at him with raised brows. " _See_! That's how I said I felt and you just told me 'Awh Steve, suck it up, you're not gonna die, you idiot'."

"I was _wrong_ , alright. I'm sorry. This feels like hell," Bucky finally sneezed. He gestured with a hand, raising it high and then down slowly. "Please don't shout. My head's pounding."

"Sorry,” Steve whispered. “By the way, not actually my fault," he felt Steve wrap his arms around him, pressing his face against his burning neck. "Should've been more careful, hanging all over me."

"Like you're doing right now?"

"What, I'm allowed. Already got it, immune to it now. Can't catch it twice."

"Don't..." he shook his head, "don't think that's how it works, 'tevie." Shit, he lost his 's's again.

" _Stevie_." Bucky heard him mumble.

"Fuck _off_."

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky was pressing two fingers to his temple as Steve relentlessly combed through his overgrown hair. Normally, he might've found this relaxing, but it was the combination of the brush getting stuck in his tangles and Queen's _Somebody to Love_ blaring way too loud from the speakers of Steve's phone that was pushing him over the edge. His stomach was again in knots, the whole bathroom reeked of hairspray, and he was dreading the fact that he was the designated driver to this party (neither of them were gonna drink, it's just that Steve couldn't drive, so he didn't have a choice).

"You look really good," Steve was smiling at him, adjusting his vest for the sixth time. "C'mon, look at yourself."

Bucky's knees cracked as he stood (he'd been sitting on the edge of their tub for half an hour), glancing at himself in the mirror. He could still see the redness of his eyes through the foundation Steve put on him. He felt like he looked like shit, felt like shit too (okay, maybe he did whine and complain some), but he couldn't bite back the smile that was hurting his cheeks. He seriously was proud of how their costumes turned out.

It was a few weeks after they'd gotten back from the convention in New Jersey. Went to a comic shop to look for a new DVD to watch that night when Steve walked over to Bucky with a _Star Wars_ art book in hand. He flipped through the pages, stopping on rough sketches of Luke and Han Solo's concept art. They'd both looked at each other, getting the same idea stuck in their heads.

The thing was massively pricey but they'd bought it anyways, along with _The Fifth Element_. Bucky remembered they'd sat in the back of his car browsing through it, Steve still arguing that he wanted to be Anakin and Bucky finally convincing him to be Luke ("you look so much like him, Steve. He suits you.")

They stayed in the parking lot for another hour. Their local comic store was right across from a Joann's Fabrics (Bucky figured they did that on purpose), so instead of leaving, they just hopped back out of the car and casually bought the most basic sewing machine they could find. With Halloween being so soon, they used that as a deadline, but honestly, he knew they'd wear them to some convention too.

Neither of them knew how to work one of those things, nor really knew anything about sewing in general. Steve knew some of the basics, like darning and hems and a few different types of hand stitching. His mom taught him when he was younger — the next time they visited Sarah in the hospital, they greeted her with a plethora of questions and an unopened pattern.

She was _thrilled_ to teach them her tricks. She worked professionally as a seamstress when she was just about their age; sewing had always been a big hobby of hers, always making Steve clothes and gifts for the kids at their church. She only stopped doing it because she went into nursing instead.

Thanks to her, they managed to fight through the frustration and yards of wasted fabric to create their very own costumes from scratch. Bucky found that he actually liked sewing once he got the hang of it. Always loved math, which apparently a lot of math was involved in sewing. Who would've thought, he said to himself as he pinned his pants together.

"Don't know about that," Bucky said as he met Steve's baby blues, pulling him into a hug. He rested his chin against the top of his head, lulling, " _you_ look fuckin' hot though, Steve. Should wear black more often."

He felt Steve pull on the back of his vest. "Oh stop. I look like a child playing dress up."

"No, you really don't," he pulled Steve away, again looking at him. He kissed his cheek. "I don't think you realize how perfect you are."

" _Perfect_ ," Steve breathed. His cheeks were turning that familiar shade of red that Bucky liked. It was so easy to make Steve blush and get him all flustered. "Think you got the wrong definition of what perfect is, James."

"No," Bucky replied flat. "I don't."

Their heads both turned at the abrupt vibrations coming from Steve's phone. The music had cut off —  how they went from Queen to Bloodhound Gang was beyond him — and Bucky could see Natasha's infamous half-smirk displayed on the screen.

"What time is it?" Steve muttered, sliding his thumb to answer it with a cheerful, "Hey!"

Bucky showed Steve his own phone. "Almost eight." Steve bit his lip, cursing under his breath, pulling away from the speaker. "You ready to go?"

"Yeah," he opened the medicine cabinet, rattling a bottle of Advil. "Gonna bring this just in case. You think she got a DJ again?"

"I don't know," Steve playfully grinned, "remember the cops came, we were all in our senior y— " Bucky could hear Natasha ("Stop talking to your boyfriend for one second, Rogers.") "S-sorry."

Bucky rolled his eyes, pinching Steve's cheek before he left to their bedroom. He still coughed everytime he bent over, and that made his head spin even more. Gritting his teeth, he rummaged through the closet, finding a book bag. He slung it over his shoulder, tossing the bottle into the front pocket.

"Buck," he heard Steve call from the living room. He peeked his head out, humming a soft, "Hm?"

"Uh, Nat asked if we could pick up Clint."

Steve wasn't holding his phone anymore. Oh, _great_. "Assuming you told her yes?"

"...maybe."

"'course," Bucky groaned. "Thought he had his own car. Or was it a bike..."

"Yeah, that's the funny thing," Steve started to say to which Bucky added, "Lemme guess. Probably not that funny."

Steve waved him off. "Nat said he ran out to go get food for the party and then his car actually broke down and had to be towed, so now he's stranded at Whole Foods.”

"S'what you get for shopping there. Overpriced shit." Steve cupped his jaw — Bucky didn't see him walk over — tongue pressed to his cheek.

"Focus, Buck. Already said yes, so let's just go get him and head over, okay?"

"Seriously, the kinda shit you pull, Steve," he leaned forward to steal a kiss, "you're so damn lucky I love you."

"I love you too," Steve said with the cheesiest, most overdone grin Bucky had ever seen (there was that feeling again of just wanting to headbutt him).

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"S'like I'm a fucking taxi," Bucky drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. Though Steve'd texted Clint fifteen minutes ago that they'd be there in five, and to be outside and ready, he still was nowhere to be found.

"Buck, it's a Saturday night. It's probably busy as hell in there." Steve's screen flashed.

"What's that?" he looked down at his lap, Steve handing him the phone.

 

 **Clint** \- _8:21 PM_  

                                                           

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/63584879@N02/30542913647/in/dateposted-public/)

  

"Oh, you're fuckin' kidding me," Bucky rounded the car to the nearest parking spot, putting the car into park with a loud sniffle. He turned to Steve as he threw open his door, pointing at him with a finger. "Stay. I'll be right back."

"You're not gonna kill him, are you...? We're in public, you know."

"We'll see," he leaned forward, flicking on the heat and handing the aux cord to Steve. He slammed the door shut behind him, shoving his hands in his pockets with an irritated huff.

Steve was always getting on his nerves, driving him crazy from time to time, but at least he wasn't a total ass about it. Always apologized or let Bucky cool down. Clint, however, was the complete opposite. He was always an ass, and seemed to be quite proud of that fact.

The automatic doors slid open and Bucky sharply turned the corner. Their Whole Foods had a little cafeteria that overlooked the parking lot, tables lining the long glass windows. Among a few other people was a man with unnaturally bleached hair, hunched over a slice of pizza with bags surrounding him.

Bucky could feel his (sore) nostrils flaring as he rolled his eyes (also sore from all the eye rolling), marching over to him. He clenched his fist into the fabric of his collar, roughly tugging on Clint's coat. He craned his neck slowly, unsurprised and wearing a friendly smile. "Hey man," he gave him a small salute.

" _Hey man_?" Bucky echoed, tugging Clint from the metal bar stool and jostling him to his feet, pizza falling flat on the floor.

"Awh, I wasn't done," his smile turned to a lopsided frown. "Never had Han Solo so pissed at me before."

"Han Sol—" Bucky looked down at his thigh holster. Right. Halloween party. Star Wars costumes. So _that's_ why everyone was staring. He shook his head. "So you've just been watching us waiting for you instead of... actually coming out and getting in?"

Clint shrugged, pushing Bucky's hand away. He smoothed out his coat before tossing the pizza slice away, gathering together his bags and slinging them over both arms. "Was hungry, what can I say?"

"'orry would do it," he sniffled, coughing into his elbow.

He gave Clint a hefty shove, walking behind him. He turned around on his heel, continuing to walk backwards as he watched Bucky. "You sick?"

"Yeah."

"Gross. Don't give it to me."

Bucky glanced away before he was licking his finger, taunting Clint with it. He sped up his pace, letting out a shrill scream before —  Clint smacked right into the trunk of Bucky's car, swept off his feet. He fell on his side, two of his bags crushed underneath him.

Bucky clapped his hands on his knees, trying so hard not to throw up for a third time as he cackled. Steve kicked open his own door, standing beside Bucky with an exasperated look.

"W-what is," Steve flailed at the man grunting in pain, "what did you do to him, Buck!?"

" _Me_?" Bucky was still laughing, rubbing circles on his stomach. "This jackass didn't watch where he was going and crashed into the car!"

"Says the jackass who's just watching him in pain," Clint retorted. Steve pointed at him then nodded at Bucky.

"Help him, for Christ's sake."

"Oh my God, he's fine," Bucky pulled him to his feet, yanking out a tissue to wipe off Clint's sleeve. Apparently he'd fallen on a yogurt, because his jacket was now covered in the stuff. "Good as new."

"You suck," Clint gestured at the trunk. "Y'gonna open it, or?"

"So. Fucking. Demanding," Bucky tugged on the handle, sliding the bags from Clint's wrists. As soon as he opened it, he slammed it shut, pushing Clint towards the right. "There, done. Get in."

"We should totally hang out more, James. No one abuses me as much as you," he grumbled as Bucky slid in, looking behind himself as he waited for everyone to click their seat belts. "First you threw my pizza on the floor. Then got yogurt all over my nice coat. Laughed at me when I was in pain. Shoved me repeatedly."

" _Bucky_." Bucky's head snapped over to Steve, who was now shaking a finger at him. "You threw his pizza on the floor?"

"Steve. The dumbass dropped it himself."

"And you call me name after name after name!" Clint shouted.

 _"I WANT TO LEAVE_ ," Bucky started to back out, his teeth gritted. This car was worse than hell.

"Great costume, by the way," Clint tapped on Steve's shoulder. Steve looked back at Clint, smiling wide and bright.

"Thanks, Clint. You not dressing up?"

"Was just supposed to grab a few things and head back, change into it, but. You know the rest."

"What happened, anyways?"

"Well—"

Bucky pawed at the radio, cranking up the volume of —  Bucky stared at the phone in the cup holder — Smashing Pumpkins’ ' _Rat in a Cage'_. He mumbled out the side of his mouth, "Nice choice."

 

 

* * *

 

"So happy to be home," Clint emptied the rest of his bags into Bucky's open arms, making his way through the still-growing crowd of people to give Natasha a loud smooch.

Steve pulled on Bucky's wrist, leading them towards the kitchen. Bucky scattered the bags on the counter, reaching into one of them to find another crushed yogurt. He licked at his fingers, turning to Steve. "I hate this. I regret every minute of it."

"Buck, Peggy just texted me that she's here. It's not gonna be so bad. Let's just go and hang out with her," Steve stroked a thumb down his stubble. "You know you love her. She's always fun."

"I do," he kissed Steve's forehead, "and she is. Fine," he looked between the bags and the fridge. "But, hold on. Are we supposed to put these away, or, what do we do? Everything's gonna get gross if we just leave it out."

"Uh, I dunno. I guess we should," Steve pulled out a pre-made salad, skirting around Bucky. He gawked inside the fridge, letting out a small gasp. "Ohhh, Cherry Coke."

Bucky chuckled, leaning his hip against the kitchen island, continuing to pass him things from the bags. "Bud, that's the last one. Think someone's been saving it."

"What if it's Clint's though?" Steve looked back at him with a mischievous smirk.

Bucky nodded. "Well, I'm convinced." He reached for the can himself, forcing it into Steve's hands. "...drink it. Drink it so fast, Steve."

"Oh, I will," he said as he cracked open the fizzing drink.

Bucky snorted, trailing his fingers through Steve's blond locks. "Just not  _too_ fast though. Don't get a stomach ache." He was starting to let himself relax, taking in a deep (uncomfortable and shaky) breath, but then his ears perked at the sound of a familiar, annoying voice.

"Barnes." He locked eyes with the brunet glaring at him from the doorway.

"Anthony." He squeezed Steve's shoulder, Steve looking between the two men. "Nat invite you or you just invite yourself in?"

"Just here to see you, buddy boy. Missed you _so_ much," Tony's tone was nothing short of sarcastic. Just hearing his voice was like dragging cans across pavement —  made him want to bash his own head in.

"The hell you want?"

"What, they got you working kitchen duty?" Tony pointed behind his shoulder. "Think a trashcan in there is overflowing. Why don't you take it out?

"That's it," Bucky chewed the inside of his cheek, fists balling until his knuckles went white. One step forward and Steve was quickly wrapping both his slender arms around Bucky's, Coke spilling all over Bucky's white shirt in the process. 

"Sorry..."

"God, Steve," Bucky threw his head back, frantically looking around for a paper towel. Spotting a roll sitting atop a microwave, he tore off a piece, running it under hot water. He dotted it against his shirt before it stained. "For real, whaddya want, Tony?

Tony had his arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow raised. "This," he nodded to them, "way more entertaining than the actual party."

Ignoring him, Bucky rubbed a towel against his shirt, looking towards Steve. "What do they got to drink in there? Give him something so he'll fuck off."

"You have such a way with words, Barnes."

" _Shut it_ ," he warned with a finger.

"Uh," Bucky could hear Steve pushing things around, banging his head on the freezer as he pulled out a bottle of Budweiser, rubbing the back of his skull.

"You okay?" Bucky asked, Steve's nose wrinkling. "'m fine, Buck."

Steve faced Tony, handing it to him. "It's all they got, unless you wanted some Canada Dry. Both options aren't... very good."

Tony sighed, leaning his elbow against the doorway's wooden frame. "It's fine," he was again looking at Bucky, this time with a knowing expression and Bucky ran his tongue over his teeth, looking for a bottle opener. He handed it to Steve who in return gave it to Tony. "Steve, how've you been? Haven't seen you since Pepper's birthday."

"Pepper had a birthday?" Bucky hit his head, adding, " _party_ , I mean."

"Invite must've gotten lost in the mail. There's always next year," Tony shrugged.

Steve, swishing around his Coke before setting it down behind them (sounded pretty empty, probably 'cause most of it was still on Bucky), leaned into Bucky's side. He automatically threw his arm around him, holding him close. "Been okay. Got a place with Buck," Steve was looking at him, "in Brooklyn, since a couple months ago. Mom's hanging in there."

Tony pointed at Steve with his bottle. "That reminds me. Rhodey went to see her, couple of days ago?"

"Oh yeah?" Steve's smile was back.

"If you see the giant bouquet, you know who it's from," Tony wiggled his brows, taking a swig of his beer. Bucky groaned.

Seemingly appearing out of nowhere, Clint leaned over Tony's shoulder — well, it was Clint's face but instead of his usual short hair, it was now overgrown and tickling at Tony's neck. He'd dressed as Legolas (Bucky was never a huge fan of that series), his actual bow he used for archery strung around his chest.

"What we talkin' about here?" he asked as Tony angled his head. Clint stared back at him, their faces too close. Tony was obviously uncomfortable and that made Clint laugh, obnoxiously loud and high pitched.

" _Lord of the Rings_ , huh?" Tony took a step back. Now he was getting in Steve's personal space because the kitchen was too damn cramped and that made Bucky tug Steve further into himself.

"Hell yeah, man. My favorite movies! Not as into _The Hobbit_ though, must admit. Hey," Clint's eyes danced between the beer Tony nursed and the abandoned Coke can. "Why're you all drinking my shit?"

"Why'd you leave us _with_ your shit?" Bucky interjected.

"Fair point," Clint shrugged, stepping inside and hopping up on the counter. "Party's lame out there. You guys seem more fun." He started swinging his feet. "Tony, what're you supposed to be?"

"I don't think he's dressed up, Clint," Steve said matter-of-factly.

"That's where you're wrong." Tony stretched out his arms to either side, nearly knocking his bottle into Steve's face if Bucky hadn't harshly shoved them backwards.

"Jesus, pay attention to your surroundings, asshole."

"Oh, are you still there, Barnes?" Tony was now the one rolling his eyes. "Sorry, Steve. Come on, guess."

Bucky cocked his head. He didn't get if this was some kind of joke, or if Tony really was dressed up. He looked the same as he always did — form fitting black suit with a white button up and silk tie. His brown hair was combed back, styled even, and he had on an expensive looking gold wrist watch.

"Your dad," Bucky tried.

"Huh. Would've been a good idea. Definitely falls into the Halloween category: scary, only want to be it once a year. But, no. Try again."

"Agent Smith," Clint snapped his fingers.

"Doesn't he wear glasses?" Steve added.

"Oh yeah," Clint pouted.

"No," Tony drew out the word between a sip, "I'm dressed as a billionaire because Stark Industries just hit _one billion_ in revenue last month. _Yay_ ," he gave himself a small cheer to everyone's blank expression.

As the silence grew and Steve started to fidget nervously, poking at Bucky's side, he asked with a sigh to Clint, "Where's your dog?"

"Last I saw of him was upstairs, taking a nap in our bedroom. You should see him, all dressed up. Looks adorable."

"Dressed as what?" Steve asked.

"Hold on," Clint hopped off the counter, stepping past Tony who was now checking his phone. "Nat!" He called out, waving his hand. Bucky could hear her heels tapping against the floor as she trailed over, stepping into the kitchen.

"...why's everyone hanging out in here?" She instantly smiled at Steve and Bucky, pulling them both into a tight hug. "Hey you two. Haven't seen you yet. Looking great."

"Oh, uh, Clint abandoned us in here. That's why," Bucky said as he hugged her back.

"I really didn't."

"You left us with your groceries," Steve shyly spoke up.

"Hm. Guess I _did_ do that."

"Where's my hug?" Tony tapped on Nat's shoulder, his forehead creasing. That smirk, the one from the picture, grew on her face. She turned around, slinging her arm around his shoulder.

"What's up?" She turned to look at Clint.

"Oh yeah," Clint gestured towards Steve and Bucky. "They wanted to see Lucky's costume. He still sleeping?"

"No," she stepped away from Tony, looking over her shoulder. "I just saw him with Peggy and Maria. I'll go get him."

"Wait, Peggy?" Bucky asked, Natasha nodding.

"...I'll get both of them. Give me a minute."

"Great," Tony looked up from his screen, setting his beer in the sink. "Six people and a dog."

"I'd watch that sitcom," Clint started cracking up at his own joke, Bucky following suit, despite the dull reactions of the others.

The metal clanging of Lucky's name tag could be heard coming closer and before they knew it, he came rushing into the kitchen, head spinning around as he tried to figure out his first victim to jump on. He decided on Tony, paws digging into his nice suit, getting Bucky to heavily snort (which made him sneeze on Steve).

" _Ewww_ , Buck."

"Sorry," he sniffled, rubbing his nose.

"By the way, Bucky's sick, don't go near him," he said lazily, opening the fridge only to close it again. "Awh, you guys put everything away. You're too kind.

"I know we are," Bucky agreed.

"This," Lucky was practically in Tony's arms, licking at his face. There was a sound of fabric tearing, and that's what got Tony raising his voice and Natasha rushing over to him. "This suit was _fourteen hundred dollars_. Natalia, I swear."

"Why're you wearing a fourteen hundred dollar suit as a costume?" She looped her finger under Lucky's leather collar, leading him over to Steve instead. He slipped out of Bucky's hold, crouching to a knee.

"Because I wasn't expecting to be covered in dog slobber, why else?"

"Aw, Buck, look," Steve was staring up at him, laughing as Lucky ran his tongue across his cheek. "He's a pirate!"

"Captain Lucky," Clint was leveling himself beside Steve, roughing up his fur. "See the eye patch?"

"Yeah, it's so cute."

"Hey boys," Peggy leaned in, her bright red lips curving. Bucky couldn’t help but grin back at her costume — Betty Boop, clever.

"Peggy!" Steve exclaimed from the floor, raising his hand to wave at her. Bucky gave her a small wave of his own. He was always happy to see her. She'd been their best friend since kindergarten; around high school is when they somewhat lost touch with her. She'd moved back to England for a few years on an exchange program, and Steve was heartbroken. He'd had a huge crush on her in middle school, which made things somewhat awkward after she'd gotten back for senior year and he was dating Bucky.

"God, it's hot in here," Tony waved himself with a hand.

"Then leave," Bucky met his sharp glare.

"So the asshole thing is permanent, huh. Like, you can't turn it off ever?"

Bucky's fists were again balling and Steve tugged on the hem of his pants, shaking his head. "Buck, come play with Lucky. Animals are good for stress, y'know. Peggy, c'mere too."

"Fine," Bucky sat, crossing his legs. Steve quickly grabbed one of his hands, giving it a tight squeeze. Lucky let out a loud bark as soon as Peggy sat down, his tail wagging at full speed.

"Wanna see something funny?" Clint nudged Steve who said a quiet, "Uh huh."

“What, your face?” Bucky leaned over Steve, Clint replying with a monotone, “ _Ha_.”

Clint flipped Lucky's eye patch to his good eye, the dog's head instantly whirling around, tripping over Bucky's lap. Bucky wrapped an arm around his torso, his shaggy fur tickling at his forearm as he wiggled around. He moved the eye patch back in place.

"Get mad at me for ' _torturing'_ you but you make your own damn dog blind."

"Oh, he likes it," Clint stuck out his tongue.

"Hey, uh," all six heads shot up, Lucky jumping to investigate the new person. "Is this where the real party is or something?"

"Bruce, get out. Seriously, one more person and we're stuck in here for good."

"Thought we had something special, Tony," Bruce adjusted his glasses with his middle finger, Bucky noticed.

Tony puckered his lips teasingly, but not without a loud groan. "We do. You know I love you, Brucey."

" _Brucey_?" Natasha interjected with a disgusted look.

"Does Pepper know about your love affair?" Bucky asked, and then Tony actually thumped the back of his head, Bucky immediately springing to his feet. He pushed a harsh hand against his chest.

"Don't fuckin' _touch_ me."

"Don't joke about shit you know nothing about," Tony spat.

"It was a _joke,_ you cock."

 _"Testosterone_ ," Peggy faux sneezed.

"Oh great, Buck," Bucky could see Steve scooting over to Peggy, pulling her into a sympathetic hug. "Now you got her sick too." 

"You started it." Bucky was ready to tear his hair out, his headache from earlier again pounding.

"I forgot, he's sick. Tony!" Clint, taking one for the team, wrapped himself around Bucky from behind, shoving him to the opposite side of the kitchen. "Run while you can!" 

That got Bucky to again lick at his fingers, running them across the back of Clint's palm until he let go with a yelp. "Tag, you're it."

"I'm leaving. Have fun, don’t eat our food, and _don’t_ let Clint cook. Remember the fire?" Natasha sounded a bit pissed off as she pulled a beer from the fridge (she huffed, Bucky assumed she saw the busted yogurts and missing drinks). She firstly grabbed the bottle opener before scooting her way past Bruce.

“What fire?” Steve sounded concerned.

“Nothing.” Clint said a little too quick.

“And,” Tony gazed at his chiming phone, “I need to take this call, so, I’m out too. Good to see you all,” he scoffed, “Not you Barnes.”

“Hate you as always, Stark.”

“Right back at you, buddy!” He was calling from the other room, and Bucky squinted. Did he really just flip him off?

“ _What fire_?” Steve wouldn’t let that go.

“It’s nothing!” Clint shouted.

 

* * *

 


	7. Donuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah had been in the hospital for, almost exactly, two months, by that point. Bucky could see how much that was wearing down Steve, and so he'd planned something fun to do with him and their family the next day.
> 
> Not being able to sleep, they go to a twenty four hour doughnut shop, place they'd go to in high school when they really needed to cram for tests (read: they'd goof around instead and mooch off the free wi-fi).

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky had a hand pressed against the kitchen counter, bringing a white mug of steaming coffee to his lips. Nearly five o'clock, had about three hours until he was supposed to head to work and he was too awake (well, _barely_ , he couldn't keep his eyes open still) to curl back up with Steve and try to sleep again.

His recent sleep schedule could only be described in one word: shit. He was still downing a healthy dose of Dayquil every morning, fighting back coughing fits and probably drinking more orange juice than one man should. That wasn't the culprit of his horrible sleep hygiene though (it didn't _help_ , but, y'know. He couldn't stop hanging around Steve and his sick ass.)

Had been almost two months exact since Sarah checked into the hospital. Much like her own son, she was always pushing her body to its limits — she was a nurse on the pediatric emergency wing, meant endless overnight shifts with little to no rest.

Bucky could tell she wasn’t feeling tip top; her once bright, sparkling, overjoyed smile was weak and the slightest bit of activity would get her having to take a breather, which wasn't normal for her once busy lifestyle. Steve and Bucky'd already been planning to move out together at the time, found a place a bit closer to Queens, but Sarah was still around when they'd be over at Steve's old house, boxing up his things.

Growing up, Steve had plenty of his own health scares, and Bucky remembered _every_ single one of them. Countless asthma attacks during PE that would get Bucky pulled out of his own classes to come help Steve calm down, that fever thing that made him bedridden for weeks, all the times he'd clutched his heart in surprise because it started hurting again.

Steve's mom was the same way; his dad hadn’t been the healthiest person either, but most of Steve’s genetic health problems came from his mother’s side. When Steve was about eight, he stayed with the Barnes for an entire month. His mom had, again, gone into the hospital for tests. Bucky's mom didn't want to tell Steve why he'd suddenly been moved into their place, the poor kid already terrified. And so, Bucky helped distract him by saying it was like an extended sleep over; they'd stay up stealing ice cream from the kitchen and reading comics in their fort, goofing around like they always did.

She was diagnosed with lupus, he overheard Sarah tell his mom — in high school, the doctors were always saying Steve had it too, or some other autoimmune disorder, exhibiting a few (concerning) symptoms here and there. At the time though, Bucky didn't know what the hell that meant, but the word sounded scary enough that he’d have nightmares about Steve losing his mom. He thinks that's maybe why he grew so overprotective of Steve, always having that fear in the back of his mind that someday, something really _might_ happen to his mom, the person who Steve loved more than anything in this world.

Ever since she went in, Steve was continuously on edge. Bucky would get calls at work from him, always begging his boss to let him have five minutes so he could calm his boyfriend down from another panic attack. Sometimes he'd come home to Steve balled up on their couch in the complete darkness, sobbing to himself and clutching Bucky’s “Bucky bear”.

He really wanted to do something nice for him, something that would distract him from the shittiness of reality, and that's the real reason why he wasn't getting any decent sleep. He'd been planning with his own mom and sister to take Sarah out to the orchard for a day. That was the place they’d always gone to as kids (same place that Steve stole the pumpkins from too, which still made Bucky cackle).

Green Meadows — known for their corn mazes and freshly made cider, which Bucky always pined over. At night, they’d close up the regular orchard and by nine, the place was turned into a fright zone, collection of differently themed haunted houses and spooky activities.

They were going to take Sarah apple picking, maybe pet some of the barn animals (Bucky hoped the goats were there this year, he _loved_ goats) and just maybe he'd convince Steve to stay once everyone else left. Bucky loved a good scare, which Steve absolutely did _not_ , so seeing his reaction to the haunted houses would really make Bucky's night.

Steve still didn’t know about this though. Bucky hadn’t figured out how to tell him yet. Didn’t know if he should tell him the day of and just throw him in the car, or tell him ahead of time. He was scared of getting his hopes up and then Sarah being too tired to go.

Bucky'd thrown his head back after another sip, fingers roughing through his overgrown hair — he really needed to get that cut, tickled at his neck all day and drove him fuckin' crazy. Coffee dripped down his fingers as he clumsily clanked the mug against the table in their living room, throwing himself on the couch. He forcibly peeled his eyes open (and now they were stinging, god, did he seriously just get coffee in his eyes).

Digging around for the controller, he turned on the TV, cranking down the volume to the point of silence. He flipped through channels, mostly infomercials and weird talk shows, until he stopped on Nickelodeon.

"Doug," he scoffed to himself, scratching at his chin. Though he was physically exhausted and could feel himself somewhat nodding off, he stuck with his plan of not getting back in bed. Only a few minutes into the show and he felt restless, so he pushed himself back up and trailed towards their tiny bathroom.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he set it near the sink, flicking through his many playlists. He clicked the one titled 'Cheer up Buck' and pressed shuffle. He glanced at his bloodshot eyes (which were still burning), but then he was smiling, brightly colored sticky notes nearly blocking his reflection. He reached for an orange one, reading it over.

 

**'We ran out of Cherry Coke!! :-('**

 

He snickered to himself, plucking another off the mirror.

 

**'I'm sorry I got you sick.**

**Quit being a baby about it though.**

 

**Love you James,**

**TTEOTL <3'**

 

He felt his heart beating faster as he set the notes beside his phone, tossing his shirt over the sink. The pipes started groaning as they filled with water, the shower coming to life. Their apartment was an older building, place built in the thirties, and so everything was excessively loud; the floorboards made it impossible to move around at night, stairs outside alerting everyone in the whole damn complex that you were coming home.

Humming along to Ophelia by — was it the Lumineers? Bucky couldn't tell all those folksy sounding bands that Steve loved from one another. He found his eyes closing again, losing track of time as he let the (borderline cold, but still lukewarm) water trail down his shoulders. He must've been in there for longer than he'd thought because there was a sudden "Buck" and knock at the door.

"Hang on, Stevie," he muttered, yanking on the handles as the pipes were again screaming. He grabbed the nearest towel —  there was one thrown over the top of the toilet, Bucky knew that must've been his — and ran it across his neck, clicking pause on his phone. He peeked his head out to see Steve clutching a blanket around himself, hair looking like a birds nest. It made Bucky smirk something wicked.

"What's up? You okay?" Kicking the door all the way open with a creak, he wrapped the towel around his waist.

"You're bein' too loud." Steve's accent was always thicker when he was tired, sometimes came out more when he got excited too.

"Sorry bud," he patted the small of Steve's back, who must've took that as an invite for a hug because he was pushing his forehead against Bucky's still damp chest. Bucky couldn't help but chuckle, wrapping his arms fully around Steve, kissing the top of his head.

"Why're you awake so early," it was more a statement than a question.

He sighed against his skin, stroking down the ribbed knit of Steve's sweater. "Just becoming a habit, I guess."

"You're not tired?" Steve lulled, reaching for his hands. He held them both in place, stroking across Bucky's knuckles.

"I am, but I'm already on my third cup of coffee. So..."

Steve laughed, taking a step back. He had this insane urge to run his fingers through Steve's hair and fix that mess atop his head but, he couldn't. He tried to look everywhere but there — the blanket that was slowly sliding back further from his shoulders, his sweater that was sitting crooked... why was he wearing Bucky's jogging pants. He _just_ washed them yesterday. _Ugh_.

"Hey," Steve started, Bucky interjecting to add his own, "hey."

There was a smile playing across Steve's lips and he timidly glanced away for a second before he re-met his gaze. "Remember our senior year, when we’d go to that twenty four hour diner to cram for tests?"

"That, uh," he rolled his tongue, "Sunset Park place?"

"Yeah. They had good donuts. _And_ free wifi," Steve wiggled his dark brows.

"Mm, right. I remember,” he gave his hand a squeeze, “‘stead of studying like we were supposed to, ended up playing—"

"Too much Final Fantasy..." Steve said with a shudder.

Bucky laughed as he roughly tugged Steve closer, giving him a gentle peck on the lips. "What about it? You hungry for breakfast already?"

Steve shrugged casually, but Bucky recognized that look. Knew Steve definitely already had his mind made up.

"Yeah, okay. Just," Bucky looked down at his still bare torso, nodding towards the towel, "gimme a second to get dressed. Don't really wanna go out like this."

"Fine," Steve puckered his lips, swiping his finger across Bucky's nose. At that, releasing Bucky's left hand, he instantly pawed for his brush, sitting near a can of hairspray. He wrapped a strong arm around Steve's waist and firmly held him in place, combing through his hair despite Steve's nagging whines.

" _Stoppppp_ ,” Steve huffed through his nostrils, his wiggling only making Bucky’s hold grow stronger. The blanket fell to Steve’s ankles.

He smacked the plastic comb flat against the side of his neck. "You stop your squirming."

"Why're you doing this to me."

"'Cause,” he was already pleased with how his creation was turning out, Steve’s hair smooth and sitting in place properly, “ you looked like an extra outta _Twister_. I fixed it, you should be thanking me."

"What if I like it that way?"

"Too bad. I don't.” Steve puffed out his cheeks and that got Bucky to roll his eyes before he kissed his temple, setting the comb down. “Hey—"

“Hey.”

Bucky swallowed a deep breath. “Got something to tell you today. Something we’re gonna do tomorrow, okay?”

“We’re doing something tomorrow?”

“Mhm,” he hummed.

“What is it?”

Bucky bundled his clothes into his arms, slinging the blanket around his neck as he scooted past Steve. “Tell you soon. What’re you gonna order?”

He could hear Steve’s footsteps behind him as they walked to their bedroom. Bucky threw his clothes in their woven hamper, setting the blanket on Steve’s pillow. He fished through the laundry basket; still hadn’t put his clothes away yet, but this made it easier for him to find things, honestly.

“Maybe a cheese omelette or something,” Bucky pulled on a new shirt, throwing the towel at Steve (he didn’t catch it) as he slid into his favorite pair of black jeans.

“What about those pancakes you like, the ones shaped like Mickey Mouse’s head,” he zipped up a grey hoodie, rolling the sleeves to his elbows. When he looked back at Steve, he was biting his lip, snorting at his phone’s screen. “What’s so funny?”

Bucky squinted as Steve held it up to him. He was browsing the dessert section of their menu and highlighted were the words ‘ _donut sundae_ ’.

Bucky let out a surprised breath of air and that made Steve laugh fully, patting his chest with a cough. “The hell is a donut sundae?”

“I ‘unno, but I need it.”

“Yeah, okay. But I swear,” he sat on the edge of their bed, sliding on his sneakers. He pointed at Steve with a finger. “You call me later today and start whining about how your stomach hurts, I’m fuckin’ blocking your number.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“ _Try me_ , Rogers,” he knotted his laces, pulling on them tightly. “You going dressed like that, or…”

“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?” Steve frowned and Bucky leapt from the mattress, arms snaking around Steve’s neck.

“Nothing, Steve,” he pushed their foreheads together, “you’re just… you’re drowning in that sweater and those are _my_ pants.”

“But, I’m comfortable.”

“Then that’s what matters,” he tugged on Steve’s cuff, leading him towards the door before shoving a pair of shoes and a jacket into his arms. “Put this on. It’s cold out.”

“I’m not a kid, Buck.”

“I know you ain’t,” he slid his wallet into his back pocket, grabbing their keys. “You know for a fact though, if I wasn’t here to remind you, you’d forget your scarf everyday.”

Steve looked up at Bucky, crouching to shimmy into his Converse. “Y-yeah…”

“Exactly.”

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky poked a spoon at the mountain of chocolate ice cream in front of Steve, who was pushing around clumps of whip cream. He broke off a piece of a powdered donut, tapping the pastry against his plate. “Stevie, you really gonna be able to finish that whole thing?”

Dimples began forming on Steve’s glowing cheeks. He leaned across the table, cupping a hand to his mouth with widened eyes as he whispered, “Didn’t think it’d be so big.”

He sat back down in the booth, leather squeaking loudly as he shifted around. Finally picking a spot he liked, he leaned against his palm. Bucky snorted, which got Steve snickering. They didn’t want too much attention drawn to them, considering they were the only ones in the diner, besides a properly dressed business man who was picking up a to-go order at the counter.

“What’d you expect? The things six dollars, you’d hope it’d be massive.”

“Thought it’d be a scoop of ice cream and a donut or two. Not four scoops and like, a dozen donuts,” Steve circled a donut through a trail of hot fudge syrup, the sticky topping dripping onto his chin as he took a bite.

“Steve,” Bucky tapped the dip of his own chin, handing him a napkin. He pinched the straw of his orange juice between his fingers, bringing it to his lips with a gentle bite (another bad habit of his). “There’s _two_ donuts. Plus, thought you liked ‘three scoops of ice cream with chocolate syrup’,” Bucky tried to quote in a mocking impression of Steve’s whining tone.

“I do. And you forgot the sprinkles," Steve kicked Bucky's foot under the table. He bit his lower lip, attempting to kick him back in return, only to smack the tip of his shoe against the metal leg of the table, his toes curling and instantly going numb. He hissed under his breath, banging his knee against the table as he reached to rub his foot, Steve sounding like a goddamn hyena.

"Stop laughing at my pain, asshole.”

"No." Steve looked smugger than usual.

Bucky's eyes were trying to roll to the back of his head. He continued, "Oh, so... About tomorrow." His shin crossed over his lap and he tried to bite back the sting of tears because, yeah, he totally broke his toe. He knew he'd be washing out blood from his sock.

"What're we doing tomorrow?"

"Remember Green Meadows?" Bucky thumbed over the small xenomorph in his pocket, keys jingling. Steve's face instantly flushed, and that got him a little more relaxed, but he could still feel nervous cold sweat beading down the back of his neck as his palms grew clammy. He wasn't sure why he was so, scared, for lack of better words, to tell Steve this. Was supposed to be a fun family day out, not something to stress about. Maybe it was that uneasy feeling he had in his gut. But, maybe not.

"You know I do," Steve's nose was blotched pink.

"Mhm, just wanted to see your reaction," he shun his teeth at him. "Well, you remember in elementary school, we went there on a field trip to pick apples?"

" _Buck_ ," Steve said pointedly. "The fifth grade class went to pick apples. Mrs. Whittaker's class was hauled onto some breaking down tractor and drove around the pumpkin patch."

"Huh," Bucky's eyebrows quirked. He folded his arms against the table. "Why do I remember you being there then?"

Steve's eyes were dancing around, had this childish sort of gleam in them. "'cause I wandered away from everyone so I could be with you instead."

"You — _what_?"

"Oh, like my mom wasn't already getting calls from the principal on a regular basis."

Bucky shook his head, reaching across the table for Steve, patting him. "And everyone was always callin' you the 'star child'."

"I'm a good actor, dunno what you want me to say," he interlocked their fingers, swishing around his spoon with his free hand. "But, what about that place? You taking us there? It's been a long time."

"Haven't been there since the night we almost got shoved in the back of a cop car. How'd you weasel us outta that one again?"

Steve licked his lips, once and then twice before he spoke with a clear of his throat. "...said _our_ father just lost his job and we couldn't afford food for the week, so we were gonna make pumpkin pies and grilled corn."

Bucky remembered the day vividly. They were rowdy teenagers, never said no to a dare and got a kick out of being rebellious; the only class Steve and Bucky shared on a regular basis was detention. It was almost one in the morning, freezing, and Steve kept telling Bucky, " _Just one more_ " as he hauled pumpkin after pumpkin into Bucky's arms.

" _Steve, Jesus, c'mon. We gotta go,_ " Bucky was bouncing on his heels, nudging his knee into Steve's back. Steve just brushed him off until — there was a bright flash of light and a car pulling its way up to the fence. Any color left in Steve's face had completely drained and Bucky could see his chin start to quiver, his nails digging into the husk of the corn he held.

There'd been three police officers that stepped out, one holding a flashlight and another talking on their radio. They'd asked them to climb back over the fence (carefully), which they did, resulting in the loss of all but two pumpkins (and the corn).

Bucky looked at him with bewilderment, vaguely gesturing in his direction. “Weren’t we already dating by that point?”

Steve dramatically put a finger to his lips, looking over his shoulder like those cops would jump out any minute. “They didn't know that, Buck.”

Bucky wrinkled his nose. “We don’t look anything alike to even be brothers.”

“But, it worked. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Yeah, how did you convince them not lock us up, Stevie? Please tell me your secrets," a waiter spun by their booth, setting down a refilled glass of water, “and don’t ‘ _you’re welcome_ ’ me. _You’re_ the one that got us into that mess in the first place.”

Steve slid the water to his side, ripping off the paper covering of a straw. Bucky narrowed his eyes, warning him not to do it. But, then he was pressing the straw to his lips, blowing with all his might, the paper wrapper plunking against Bucky's cheek. “You didn’t have to come along.”

“Yes I did," he dotted the paper in a small amount of water, balling it up before tossing it at Steve's ear. "Couldn’t even climb the fence yourself, idiot. You used my back as a steppy stool.”

“Whatever. And, just so you know, it worked ‘cause I gave them my best ‘ _please sir, I’m begging you_ ’ expression.” Steve was ripping off another piece of donut before swirling it around in the now melting ice cream. He licked the torn edge, rocky road on his tongue and then it started to drip down his wrist, falling on his lap.

"Awh, Steve, seriously? Now I gotta wash them again..." Bucky smushed his hand against his cheek, eye closing as he sighed. "And I don't know what the hell you're talking about. Can you give me an example?" He waved at him.

"I'll throw them in the wash later, it's fine," Steve blotted a napkin against the pants. He looked back at him with a subtle grin, nodding. "Sure. Uh, it usually goes something like this," Steve's forehead was creasing, his brows pulling up and lip forming something of a pout. He'd gone doe-eyed and then, Bucky started recognizing this look — this is the look he'd given Sarah countless times when he wanted to get away with shit; " _I'm sorry mom. Yes, I took your credit card and bought a four hundred dollar tablet, but here's why_ ..." or " _Yeah, I know my essay's overdue by three weeks, but I was tired, okay? I gotta heart condition_ ," or " _Buck, please. I wanna ride the Cyclone, and no, promise I won't throw up on you, again_."

All he could see was that kid that’d stolen his heart over and over again and it only made his stomach flutter.

"Guess it works," Bucky found himself sighing again, but not out of frustration or exhaustion.

No, it was more… dreamy, feeling like he was swooning over his best friend for the first time again.

"It always does. _Anyways_."

"Anyways," Bucky drummed against the table, smoothing his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, we're going there tomorrow. Gonna go apple picking, maybe feed the goats, and... a haunted house or two."

"Haunted house," Steve echoed. "Bucky, I hate those so much."

"I know you do. You can cling onto my arm, I don't mind. Just don't scream in my ear, alright?"

"Do we have to?"

"Yep. That's the deal."

"Eurgh, fine," Steve let out a short breath. "So, who's all coming? Nat and the guys?"

"No,” Bucky shook his head. He took another swig of his orange juice, poking around at his cinnamon waffles. Through a drawn-out chew, he said, “S'family thing, actually. Gonna be my ma and Rebecca, and..."

"And?"

He swallowed in a loud, forced gulp. "Well, that's what I wanted to tell you, buddy. Been working something out for awhile and, your ma's gonna have a day out with us."

"Wait, seriously?” Steve’s expression massively changed; was like his pleading one from before but laced with more genuine concern and fear. “You're not joking?"

"Steven. Why the hell would I joke about that?"

"You wouldn't," Steve scratched at the back of his neck, twisting his thumb and pointer through the roots of his hair. "You sure that's alright?"

"What do you mean? She wants to come."

"No, I mean, for her health. It's okay for her to go out?"

“Steve, c’mere,” he gestured with his head. Steve, clumsily as always because he tripped over his own two feet, slid into the booth with Bucky, hips touching. He was practically sitting _on_ him, but Bucky didn’t mind. Instead, he traced along the sharpness of Steve’s jawline, admiring his bony cheeks. "Got doctor's approval. Plus, she's gonna be in a wheelchair and have a nurse with her the whole time. It'll be fine, sweetheart."

"Alright," Bucky could see his eyes watering, long lashes flickering rapidly and so he closed the gap between them. Steve only pulled away to say, "It'll be fun. Thank you, James. Seriously,” but then he was kissing him again, gripping his wrists and Bucky could feel him trembling.

"I love you," Steve murmured.

"I love you too," now his stomach was doing somersaults and it just made him think of Rebecca's gymnastic practices that he was always forced to go to. Trying to calm himself, he asked quietly, “what time is it? Sun's starting to peak out already."

"Oh, uh," Steve dug around in his pocket but then he was giving Bucky a shy smile. With a shrug, “Guess I didn’t bring my phone, sorry.”

Bucky pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, ruffling through Steve’s neat hair. He peered his phone’s screen, 6:14 AM flashing. "Still got time to kill. What time you gotta get to work by?"

"Not 'til noon."

"Hmm," Bucky hummed, "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

"I dunno, am I?" He could feel Steve’s hands traveling up his thighs. He leaned in to kiss him again; Steve tasted almost too sweet, chocolate overwhelming his senses. Bucky cupped his chin, shaking his head with a small chuckle.

"As good as that sounds," he drew out the words, "just took a shower, Steve. Plus, I'm tired. Gonna fall asleep on ya."

That got Steve laughing, pushing his head into the crook of Bucky’s neck. Bucky kept his arms  around his back, feeling the heat of his body. "What were you thinking then?"

"Well, there's a Halloween store 'round here. See, I was lookin’ on my phone yesterday and saw the hours were kinda weird, ‘cause it’s like an ‘emergency last minute’ Halloween sorta place, so it’s open early."

"You'd,” Steve almost sounded irritated, but Bucky knew he really wasn’t, “rather go to a Halloween store than go home and f—"

He cut him off with a fake yawn. "I'm _tired_. Plus, it’s fun lookin’ at all that stuff. Always wanted to get one of those full scale skeletons and hide it in our bed, film your reaction."

Steve pushed himself to sit up, looking at him blank. “... _Seriously_?”

“I mean, I _won’t_. But it would be pretty funny.”

“Funny for _you_ maybe. Fine, whatever you want, Buck. We can go," Steve caressed his cheek.

Bucky’s attention darted back to the bowl of ice cream and donuts. "Gotta finish that damn thing first, though."

"Can you help me maybe?”

"Fuckin' Christ. Fine," Bucky dragged it over to them. The front doors chimed as a family of four stepped in, someone swinging around from behind their booth to greet them. Bucky glanced at his own plate. He was pretty full, but, six dollars is a lot to waste. He dipped his finger through a wad of syrup.

"That’s gross.”

“I’m not sick anymore,” he said with a nasally sniffle, “Wouldn’t matter anyways, you’re immune to it, remember?”

“That _is_ how it works!”

“It’s _really_ not. Dunno where you get your facts from, Steve.”

 

 

* * *

 


	8. Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky somehow gets them lost on the way to the Halloween store. Steve is still worrying his little head off about the dumb haunted houses.  
> And, Bucky really resents the color orange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little belated, but, Happy Halloween to everyone!
> 
> Next chapter might take awhile to get out (have a feeling it's going to be a pretty long one), but that's also the chapter I'm most excited for. :-)

 

 

* * *

 

 

"How... how are you _lost_ ?" Steve was tapping his feet against the dashboard — normally Bucky'd throw a fit about this, tell him he's _'gonna get shit everywhere, c'mon, I wanna keep this thing looking somewhat decent'_ and smack his feet down, but he was too damn busy trying to figure out what was wrong with his navigation skills at the current moment.

Phone in his left hand, Bucky harshly rounded an all too familiar narrow street, tires screeching as he grit his teeth in frustration. The place was only ten minutes from Sunset Park yet they'd been lost for about fifteen, circling the same neighborhood over and over again. "Think this street is cursed or somethin'. Like the fuckin' Twilight Zone here."

Steve rolled his eyes, a huff following. "Gimme that."

He pulled the phone from his hand. Bucky grunted, a complaint at the tip of his tongue but then Steve's mouth was forming a perfect 'o' as he breathed, "you _idiot_ . You don't have the store put in there, you have this damn _street._ "

"Huh?" Bucky pressed down on the breaks, angling himself to look at Steve. He lazily slung his elbow around the headrest. "What're you talking about?"

"This," he tapped the screen with a short nail, "this one means where you wanna get to from," he pointed at a small box above it, "here. This is your current location."

"I did put in the address of the place though." Steve's nose was wrinkling. Bucky had to suck in his lips, trying not to burst into tears (in a fit of laughter but also really wanting to cry at his own stupidity). But then, Steve was snorting hard, curled over on himself; his forehead was pressed against his knees. Bucky couldn't hold it in any longer, chuckling himself as he leaned in his direction, cheek smushed on his shoulder.

When Steve was finally looking back at him, he was completely red. Bucky couldn't decide if it was just plain cute or ridiculous. He settled on 'ridiculously cute'. "God, you're so dumb."

"Yeah, yeah. S'why we're a good pair," he poked Steve's temple with a finger, glancing back down at his phone. "Can you, uh, fix it then?"

"Sure. If you tell me the name of where we're even going."

"Right... the name," Bucky nodded, scratching at his neck. Steve cocked his head, a half grin loose on his lips. "Buck, you do know the name of this place, right?"

He took the phone from him, pulling up Google, his thumbs typing away, almost like he was in some kind of a hurry. He started bouncing his knee, waving him off. It was getting later and now he was irritated as all hell, but that filled him with even more determination to get to this stupid place. "I swear, I had it in there, Steve. I ain't lying." At the sound of a rather aggressive honk, and a man faintly shouting, " _Get off the road, jackass_!" over their music, Bucky's head shot up. He quickly pulled them into someone's driveway, releasing a shaky puff of air.

"Why's it that every time we go out, I feel like you're gonna get us killed somehow." Steve gestured in front of them with an open hand; they were sitting in the driveway of a rather nice looking house, multi storied (not quite mansion level, but definitely above average) with a few ghost decorations hanging from the branches of a tree, blowing in the wind. Luckily, it looked like all the lights were off. Didn't stop Steve from saying, "...you can't just sit here. It's illegal."

"Steven. It's just for a second," his tone went firm.

Steve started fiddling around with the radio; whatever channel they were listening to turned into a mixture of eerie talk show voices and annoying static. "Fine, but if anyone comes running out and calls the cops on you, I'm not helping this time."

"Oh, fuck you," Bucky looked up from the bright screen (he was still squinting), biting the inner skin of his cheek.

"Exactly what I wanted to do, but no. We had to go to the Halloween store, cause it just ' _sounded like so much fun_ '. Bucky, is there even a store?"

"Yes, it's a real place. Ain't imaging that part at least." He almost felt like he _was_ going crazy, falling short of luck as he found nothing but suggestions for Party City until — Aha! For once Google was helpful, the address of a Brooklyn-based costume store popping up. Looked like they were a year round costuming supply store but based off of their tacky website, they had 'the perfect props to turn your house haunted!'.

Opening up Google maps, he flicked off the radio, plugging the aux cord into his phone. Looking over his shoulder, he slowly backed them out. "Watch your mouth. You keep talking to me like that and I'm makin' you walk all the way home."

"At least I'd be able to _find_ my way back," Bucky knew his eyes were trying to roll themselves out of his skull, an itching pinprick sensation traveling down his left arm. He almost questioned if he was having a heart attack right then and there, but, no. Was just the urge to whack some sense into Steve (which he quite literally did as he thumped the back of his head).

"The hell's that for!?" His voice cracked and it got Bucky chuckling. He set his phone in the cup holder, intently listening to the directions.

"Stop tryin' to act all innocent. Doesn't work on me, you know that," Bucky peered in the rear-view mirror, his brows knitting. Pulling up to a stop light, he started fiddling with it, glancing at Steve. "Hey, so, you excited for tomorrow? Or, how're you feeling?"

"Stomach hurts," Bucky noticed Steve playing with fringe of his scarf, twirling the long strings around his fingers. He had this black fleece one he’d been wearing since the fourth grade; had a few tears in it and was starting to show obvious signs of wear (not just the rips, was the fact that the colored was faded almost to grey). His mom had been working on knitting him a new one, wasn’t quite done yet, so he’d kept wearing the mangy thing.

"Told you not to get that damn chocolate disaste—"

"It's _not_ that," Steve's expression softened; his body language had enough nervous energy to make Bucky fidgety himself. Steve seemed restless and jittery — he’d crossed his legs in his seat and now was playing with the laces of his Converse.

The way Steve was carrying himself right now, averting Bucky’s direct eye contact and playing with whatever he could to just distract himself, really reminded him of the good ol’ days when they’d get chased by bullies. Steve, being the small fucking idiot he is, never backed out from a fight, especially when there was a legitimate good cause to it (ninety percent of the time the reason was bullshit though, something like, ‘ _Well,_ Buck _, he just looked at me funny, so, y’know’_ ).

He remembered one fight in particular— it was their senior year and prom was slowly creeping up on them. They’d already been dating for a bit over a year at that point, and of course, they’d show a bit of PDA here and there in the halls. A few light cheek kisses, maybe a hand grab or two, always hanging over each other at lunch.

Growing up in New York, they'd never had their sexuality questioned. Both their families embraced their relationship with open arms (both their moms stated they _knew_ this was coming, thought they were a good match for each other anyways), and so they never really kept up a high guard when showing affection, even at school. Hell, plenty of their friends were gay themselves, so the day Steve’d stumbled across ‘faggots’ streaked across the metal of his locker in bright red paint, it definitely took him by shock.

Bucky tried to coax Steve down the hall and get him back home. It was done by a couple of dumb jocks, who’d all been standing off in the distance, laughing among themselves. Bucky just wanted them to tell a teacher or a janitor so they could wash it off.

“ _Stevie, let’s go. This ain’t worth it. Think Tron’s supposed to be on HBO today, can still catch it if we hurry back_ ,” Bucky had Steve tucked into his side. The kid was so incredibly stubborn, had been like that since they met in the first grade, and he slithered out of his hold.

Now, Steve was always getting beat up (and so was Bucky, not always by choice, mind you). He often came home with scuffed jeans and a familiar shiner; okay, maybe _often_ is a light choice of word. More like on a daily basis the both of them had some sort of new cut or bruise or scratch. This was such a regular occurrence that Sarah taught Bucky’s mom all the basics of first aid (including stitches) and gave her a small medical kit to keep at their place.

Bucky never liked bringing up this story, because really, that was the only time anyone had ever given them actual hell for being together just because they’re both men. But, the expression he was seeing on Steve’s face right now, was a perfect mimic of how he looked that day.

Bucky had to _drag_ Steve out of the school, throwing him over his shoulder. He had blood rushing down his face because the assholes _broke_ his nose. Luckily the principal stepped in, but Bucky felt an immense guilt that he couldn’t get them to stop.

The fear that had been on Steve’s face that day, he’d never seen it since. He looked so petrified and caught off guard, it made Bucky’s heart clench.

And now, sitting right next to him, his face was illuminated by the green of the stoplight and he looked just as helpless.

"It’s just butterflies. It's fine,” but he knew Steve was lying. He wasn’t sure how to approach it though, so he swallowed down the lump in his throat and nodded. His eyes were back on the road, but he placed a hand on Steve’s knee, squeezing him.

"You sure, bud? You can talk to me about anything, you know that."

"I know, Buck," there was a little smile on his face now. "More just worried about the haunted houses... they can't touch you, right? I don't like being grabbed. Er, by strangers."

Bucky felt like the air was punched out of him. He _definitely_ wasn't expecting Steve to change the conversation to that. "Nah, they can't. Wouldn't let them anyways," he turned into the parking lot of a strip mall. Most of the stores seemed to be abandoned or vacant, for sale signs in the windows. The sketchy looking area was a stark contrast from all the richy-rich looking houses surrounding it. Though, at the very end was a warehouse type building. Obviously it'd originally been an Office Depot (outlines of the sign were still there, for god's sake), but it was plastered with bright orange advertisements.

"Why's everything always orange? I mean, I get it 'cause pumpkins and stuff but, it's getting real old, don'tcha think?"

Bucky twisted the keys, engine nulling. Steve asked him, "What color do you want then? Black?"

"Hell yeah. S'anything better than neon orange though." He unplugged his phone, stuffing it in his jacket pocket. Before opening his door, he was again turning to Steve, smirking full and wide. "'bout the haunted house thing. Doesn't matter what they do, fuckin' wind gets you pissing your pants."

"Oh my _God_ , that's _so_ not true."

"Isn't it?" Bucky shivered as cold air nipped at his earlobes, making him tug up his hood. He could hear Steve pop open his door and that got him thinking, thinking it would be a great idea to put his theory to test. Might cheer up Steve a little (even if it didn’t, would totally make Bucky laugh at least).

He crouched to his knees, crawling his way around the car, stopping mere inches behind his blond friend. He kept his back pressed against a tie, head ducked as he sucked in his breath.

"Bucky," he called, raising himself on his tippy toes. His hand was shaking as he outstretched his arm (mostly from excitement, because he _clearly_ got off on this sorta stuff). He reached for Steve’s ankle, his fingers wrapping around his slender leg, pulling on the fabric of his pants. Steve’s head automatically whirled back — he sucked down a sharp gasp of air, almost sounded painful and it made Bucky cringe a bit. Steve tugged his foot away in response, which got him literally tripping over himself, but also kicking Bucky flat against the cheek.

He winced, because _fucking shit ow,_ that was _definitely_ going to leave a nasty mark tomorrow. But, he tried to bite back his pain as he made catching Steve his top priority instead. He scurried towards him before he could fall hard on his flat ass. Steve slung his arm around his neck, lips parted.

"You're such a jerk," Steve's voice was wavering. Bucky couldn't tell if he actually was going to cry or if he was putting on a show. So, with an arm hooked under his knee, he stood up, Steve being held in his arms bridal style. Bucky looked at him, smug grin of his own this time, saying, "Caught you though, didn't I?"

"Doesn't take away from the mini heart attack you gave me," he slapped his palm against Bucky’s chest, but his lips were sucked in and his forehead was creasing too much to _not_ be holding in laughter. He kissed the side of his head, snickering faintly to himself.

“Don’t lie, Steven. You loved it.”

“Did not! I _hate_ being scared, didn’t you hear me?”

“Oh,” Bucky’s eyebrows were raising to a dangerous level. Steve’s face went expressionless and he was shaking his head.

“No, wait. That’s not what I meant. I wasn’t scared.”

“Hey, hey. Don’t gotta be so hard on yourself, ‘kay? I’m a lot scarier than the wind, so you’re fine.” Steve groaned. He was starting to kick his legs, squirming around like a fish out of water. He carefully set him down on his own feet, ruffling through his hair.

“Wasn’t _actually_ scared,” Steve pulled at the collar of his own jacket before he reached for Bucky’s hand, pulling him along. Bucky whispered back to him, “Sure, whatever you say.”

Bucky peered at the fabric banner taped across their normal store sign. Was a little dark to make out the exact words of it, but it said something about Halloween, he knew that much. Was a bit weird to him also that there weren’t many street lights in that area (he really hoped they weren’t going to get shanked at the fucking _Halloween store_.)

“Mm, speaking of which,” Bucky held open the door as Steve walked past him, a soft ‘ding-dong’ tune playing. The carpeted floor creaked under his steps as Steve kept tugging him along. They ended up in a section full of costume makeup and fake blood. Aside from the man resting against the front counter, they were the only ones there, which Bucky figured they’d be.

He continued with a clear of his throat, “what do you wanna actually do on Halloween? S’like we’re doing everything early this year, don’t got any plans on for the thirty first anymore.”

“Uh, I dunno. Didn’t really think about that,” Steve grabbed a packet of blood capsules but Bucky lead his hand back to the shelf, making him hang it back up.

“You pick those up just to give me an aneurysm, or…” Steve was looking at him knowingly, front teeth biting his lower lip. “Worst thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

“I know, I remember. You almost threw up,” Bucky instead picked up a bottle of liquidy blood (the non-edible kind, thankfully). In response to Steve, he said, “Yeah, well, didn’t think they’d taste like rancid ass. And, you know how good my gag reflex is, so think you can sorta get my point on how _awful_ they were.”

Steve leaned against the wall, elbow pressed against an empty spot. “...I don’t even know where to start.”

Bucky waved with a snort. “Don’t need to. New topic — or, well, back to the original. You wanna go out somewhere? Think there’s supposed to be trivia at that one bar near us.”

“Maybe,” Steve ran a finger under Bucky’s chin. “Or, we could carve pumpkins and eat candy.”

Bucky laughed. “That sounds good too. Still haven’t done anything to our pumpkins yet, huh?”

“No. And you promised yours would be a _masterpiece_. Been having trouble sleeping at night ‘cause the suspense is just killing me.”

He leaned closer to Steve, resting their forehead together. He bumped their noses. “We’ll do that soon. Promise.”

“Okay Buck,” there was a shy grin plastered on Steve’s face, and that look alone was getting Bucky flustered, another rare occurrence. He knew he was blushing, based on Steve’s reaction and the burning feeling of his cheeks.

He led Steve further into the store, stopping at a selection of masks. Some were those cheesy costume masks with elastic tied around the back, but there was also a display of screen-accurate latex castings of popular movie characters, a xenomorph head included in the line up. Bucky kept eyeing it.

“You know,” he squeezed Steve’s hand, “your mom always was a big fan of the holiday too. Think she’d want to watch scary movies and carve pumpkins with us?”

“She’s already coming with us tomorrow, Buck. I don’t know if a second time would be go—”

“Nah, not what I meant. What I mean is _us_ bringing the party to her. Take a few DVDs, a board game or two. You think she’d like that?”

“Maybe,” Steve’s eyes quickly darted down at the floor and Bucky cupped the side of his jaw. His body was shaking and Bucky was thinking this was going to be another repeat of Steve’s break down last week; they were at the mall, looking for a birthday gift for one of their old high school friends, and Steve started sobbing in the food court. It was hard not to laugh because he’d been holding a corn dog the whole time, but, it really brought an indescribable pain to Bucky and filled him with a suffocating sadness.

“I just feel like”—his breath was wispy—“we don’t have that much time left with her.”

He stroked his thumb down the short hairs of his neck. “You can’t think like that.”

“It’s the truth though,” he was leaning into Bucky’s touch, “everyone keeps telling me that, that I gotta think _positively_ . But, I’m actually the only one that’s thinking _realistically_. I know how sick she is, Bucky.”

“What I meant was, you _can’t_ think like that ‘cause it just makes you feel worse. Probably why you got sick, s’from all the stress.”

“Is it better to ignore what’s happening though? Everyone knows she’s dying. And, I _know_   I’m gonna get that call soon. Every fucking time my phone rings, I jump.”

Bucky found himself sighing. “Yes, Steve, she is, alright. But instead of worrying your little head off,” he flicked his ear, “enjoy all the time you get with her. We can start seeing her a few times a week instead of just once, if you want.”

Steve sniffled, and Bucky noticed how bloodshot his eyes were. “All I want… I just want my mom back—” “Do you need help finding anything?”

Staring at them from over a shelf was that same man from the front of the store. He was wearing a gentle smile, his arms folded over one another (oh great, he was wearing a button up in that same gross neon orange). Steve was still on the verge of crying. He pulled Bucky’s hand closer to his face, using _his_ sleeve to wipe away the few tears that managed to escape.

Before Steve could manage to speak, tell him that they were ‘just looking’, Bucky nodded. “Yeah, actually. S’gonna be my boyfriends first time going to a haunted house tomorrow. Thing is, he’s terrified of the dark. Got any glow sticks or something that’ll help?”

“Oh, screw you,” Steve elbowed him in the stomach, the older man chuckling despite himself.

“First haunted house, huh?” He turned on his heel, gesturing over his shoulder for them to follow. “Where at?”

“Green Meadows.”

“Ah,” he stopped at a corner display. There was a small table with plastic pumpkins, the kind they’d use for trick or treating as kids. Beside it was an array of package glow sticks, from necklaces to glasses to kits. And beside _that_ was a (bright orange, fuck) flashlight with small plastic discs, cartoon-esque images of classic Halloween characters etched into them. “That’s a good one. I personally like their hayride, or the ‘haunted barn’, the best.”

Bucky reached for the flashlight, handing the packaging to a sighing Steve. “Yeah? Which one’s the scariest?”

“Awh, Buck, seriously?”

“Scariest?” He scratched his chin, “hayride’s going to do that for you. They make you get off in a cornfield and find your way back to the tractor. For experience though, the indoor houses have some pretty great actors and scenes.”

Bucky smirked at Steve, patting the small of his back. “Might have to do them all, then.”

“Is that all?” the man pointed at the flashlight. Bucky did a quick spin, looking at everything surrounding them. His eyes were instantly captured by a six foot tall, anatomically correct skeleton, hanging on the wall. Its bones weren't the most realistic colors (there were some in pink, camouflage and a muddled off-white), but he couldn't help himself as he tugged on Steve. 

"No, that's all," Steve called out the second he saw where Bucky was looking, his head nodding to his words. He waved his finger at Bucky, hissing, "don't you _dare_."

The man chuckled, again, before gesturing towards the counter. “I’ll ring you out.”

As Bucky was about to take a step forward, he released Steve’s hand (who kept walking), feeling a small tug on the back of his jacket. The man was cupping around his mouth, whispering to Bucky with a cheerful tone, “If you get there early enough, ask for a guy named ‘Thomas’. He works the hayride as one of the monsters. Tell him Larry sent you and your friend there, is a ' _scare virgin_ ’. He’ll know what to do; guys been working there for ten years.”

“You tellin’ me he’s gonna make it extra scary just for him?”

“He has the ability to. The power’s in your hands, buddy,” he clapped his shoulder before moving towards the cash register.

Steve looked between the two with wary eyes. “What was that…?”

“Nothing, Stevie,” he snaked an arm around his waist, kissing the top of his head. “Don’t you worry.”

The older man in the ugly as hell shirt —guess he was ‘Larry’ now— snickered as Bucky handed him a five dollar bill, unfolding a paper bag.

“I am. I’m _very_ worried, Buck.”

“Don’t. You’ll be fine, Rogers,” he took the bag from him, pinching the back of Steve’s palm. “Just fine.”

 

* * *

  
  



	9. Candy Corn & Apple picking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day that Bucky'd been stressing about for at least a month had finally came - the pre planned outing with Sarah and his own family. What was going to be a fun day in theory turns out to be more anxiety inducing for both Steve and Bucky. That's not to say Bucky doesn't still have a good time though; he ended up making... seven new friends! 
> 
> Though, admittedly, he was still looking forward to the haunted houses later that night the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeez, this took so long to update, and I'm sorry for that. I've been really for the past few months (which is why I've been writing so much lmao), but since October I've just had no energy, and ultimately lost inspiration in doing this story. 
> 
> But! I have a few future chapters left and the inspiration is mostly back. :- ) So this series is finally going to get finished.
> 
> This chapter was split into two parts. Originally it was going to be longer, with the haunted house part included but its close to 10k words already, so I decided it'd be better to break it down. Also I just really wanted to get this done, it's been sitting around 85% finished since November and taunting me. :-|
> 
> -
> 
> This chapter/series is dedicated to ParrishPassages.

 

* * *

 

"Becca, come on," Bucky stroked his hands up and down his arms, puffs of breath visible in front of him. It was six in the morning, his cheek hurt something awful, and of course it just _had_ to be bitter and colder than a witch's tits out (what the hell does that expression even mean, or rather, why did he know it...). And yet, Rebecca still took her ever loving sweet time to get ready. First it was, 'I'll be done in five minutes!' then that turned into ten then fifteen, and so on. At least Steve was cozy and comfortable in their car, bopping along to whatever annoying pop song he'd put on before Bucky was begrudgingly treading back to the house with grit teeth. So jealous. He'd much rather be sizzling in front of a heater, even if that meant listening to the Jonas Brothers or the flavor of the month annoyingly positive pop band Steve was into, instead of standing on their doorstep, waiting for his idiot sister to finish combing her hair or whatever she could _possibly_ be doing that was taking damn near an eternity.

Minor regret Bucky was starting to feel now about their prior decision to spend the night at his old home.

The day before, Bucky'd managed to drop off Steve with hardly half an hour to spare before he had to clock in after their earlier... adventures; not only did it take them a ridiculous amount of time to find the dumb stuffy store, but then he couldn't figure out how to find the way back to their place. Lived in New York practically all his life and still, no idea where he was or, apparently, where anything is.

Steve really didn't want him to leave. Was begging and pleading him to call in sick (was bad enough he used his sick days on him when he was actually sick, he couldn't afford to do it again when he was perfectly healthy and just needy). He had to practically pry him from his neck before he turned on his heel and gave the door a hefty slam that got Steve to finally shut up. Which was also a lie, he could hear him whining even as he made his way down the halls.

Immediately once reaching the restaurant, he was bambarged by a plethora of texts, coupled with "Steve's emojis" (you know, the dumb :-) and :-( he'd always send to get Bucky's attention and sympathy.) He had to shut off his phone before he could even think twice about jumping in his car and heading straight back home. The urge was strong, almost too strong to resist, but he tried to keep himself otherwise occupied by, well, actually doing his job.

Only productive thing that came out of that otherwise pointless text conversation was that they'd agreed the smarter move was heading over to the Barnes' household later that night; his mom and sister lived about thirty minutes from their apartment, and Bucky wasn't really in the mood to make three long ass trips the following day. Plus, they lived closer to the hospital than Steve and Bucky did.

 

" _You almost ready to go_?" Bucky had been slouched back into his seat, mindlessly fiddling around a pen he'd found in the cup holder between two fingers, replicating the growing boredom he was feeling right this very minute. Seven o'clock yet he felt like he'd hardly gotten to see any light of the day as the sky was starting to already cloud over and darken. He'd just gotten off of work by that point, not even ten minutes prior — still sitting in the parking lot — but he was antsy and on edge to get to his mom's house already.

" _Yeah Buck_ ," there was a clutter of loud noises before Steve's voice got sharper, his breaths stuttering. " _'m just finishing up here, but I'ma pack up in a few minutes_."

Bucky turned his keys, speakers instantly blaring out the chorus to a song from a NIN CD that was still left inside the player — he'd scrambled to yank the volume down, wedging his phone between his shoulder and ear. " _You okay? Sound kinda outta breath_."

Steve chuckled faintly. " _I'm fine, Bucky. Just wheelin' around a lotta books and, some of them are pretty dusty. Been venturing the autobiography section, seems like no one's been down there in awhile_."

" _Autobiography section, huh? Think I know why it's so dusty_ ," throwing his phone down on his lap (not before pressing 'speaker'), he'd glanced over his shoulder, backing out.

" _Yeah? Why's that_?"

Bucky pulled out into the street with a half groan. Steve wasn't that far away, but traffic was definitely going to put a bit of time between them. " _Ain't that the secret make out spot or something_?"

"Or something," Steve snorted, but it sounded stifled. He was in a library after all. " _That where we use to do it? Thought that was world history_."

" _Hm, no, you're right. I remember that too_ ," there was another soft laugh, released from both of their lips simultaneously. Bucky started drumming his nails against the steering wheel; neither of them were talking anymore and it started to grow so silent, he questioned if Steve was even still there (he'd looked down briefly, and yep, his half-grinning face remained filling up his screen). God, between him not talking and the asshole not moving in front of him even though the light was clearly green, the inside of his skull had started to actually itch. It made him shake in his seat until finally, " _Stevie_."

" _Hm_?"

" _There you are_ ," he'd breathed out the side of his mouth as he twisted his torso, merging lanes. The sliver of still remaining daylight shone across his skin, and he wasn't sure if it was just the sun that was making him feel warm, or his thoughts that were fixated on Steve (like they always were, nothing new there). " _You mind if I call my mom real quick? Let her know we're coming soon_."

" _Oh, yeah, sure Buck. You want me to go?_ "

He waved his hand, like Steve could actually see him. " _Uh, nah. I can just add her to the call, unless you do gotta go_ ," he glanced back down at his lap, stopping only right after starting to move again— always running short on his luck, he'd hit four red lights in a row. Flicking upwards with the side of his thumb, he'd opened up his small list of contacts (his mom, sister and their sparse amount of shared friends), tapping on 'Mom'.

" _I don't have to go yet. It's not as busy today so it's not like anyone's going to yell at me for being on my phone_."

" _Star employee, Steve_."

A set of aggressively loud rings sounded out, making Bucky sigh under his breath as he had to paw at the volume for the speakers, until they were abruptly cut off by a bout of static, which is also the moment he regretted still keeping Steve on the line.

" _Jamesy! What a pleasant surprise to hear from you. Are you on your way over_?"

" _Almost. Sorta stuck in traffic right now, on my way to pick up Stevie. Speaking of which, say hi. Still got him on the line here_."

" _Hi sweetheart. How've you been_?"

" _Been doing fine, Winnie_ ," there'd been the smallest of pauses, " _how about yourself_?"

" _This one, always so polite. You should learn a thing or two from him, James_."

" _Yeah okay, alright_." He could hear Steve chuckling faintly, only assuming he had a hand over his mouth so he wouldn't be too loud. " _Ma, is there anything you want us to pick up? We can swing by the store real quick_." He groaned under his breath. " _Jesus Steve, stop laughing at me_."

" _Sorry_ ," Steve said, but clearly, he wasn't because he hadn't stopped.

" _Would you mind getting something easy to make for dinner_?"

" _Sure. Like, uh, what_?"

And that's how they ended up spending a good half hour strolling around the grocery store with nothing but a package of candy corn and a tub of ice cream in their basket. His mom had simply told him 'whatever you feel like' but, the fact was Bucky wasn't hungry because... he sorta ate before he left from work (made himself a sandwich and downed two bottles of Mtn Dew, which was one of the worst ideas he'd made this week). Steve was never any help when he came to food; he had a permanent sweet tooth, always craving sugar and nothing else, hence the candy corn.

Bucky hated the shit but Steve practically threw a fit in the middle of the aisle, yanking on Bucky's sleeves and acting like the world was going to end if they didn't get that specific pack of candy shit because, " _Bucky, they're seasonal! If we don't get it now, we won't be able to ever again! Until next year, that is_."

He wish they would've recorded his mother's reaction when they set their bags down in the kitchen and started putting things away, only to reveal: a bag of chips (sour cream and onion, which Rebecca hated), the nasty candy, a tub of mint chocolate chip, and a pack of beer.

...Needless to say, they ordered sandwiches to go that night.

 

"Seriously. Why the hell are you taking so damn long? We gotta go," Bucky peered his head inside, eyes locking with Rebecca's boyfriend. He was a few years older than her, same age as Steve, and that honestly made him a little uncomfortable; any guy she'd ever been with made him uncomfortable though, he was just the overprotective big brother and he knew that. But, Charles was a genuinely nice guy. He could see how happy he made Rebecca, which was good, obviously. He wouldn't want his sister to be sad, duh.

"She just went upstairs," Charles pointed with his thumb. He scratched the back of his head, knocking his glasses off balance. There were little, subtle things that he did sometimes that reminded him of Steve. "You don't mind me tagging along, do you? Sorry it's so last minute."

"Nah," he waved at him, leaning his weight onto one leg. "The more the merrier. Stevie's really nervous, so, having the extra distraction really helps."

"You know," Bucky's attention was already drifting off — half distracted, he pulled out his phone to check the time, but instead he found himself admiring Steve's face on his lock screen. In the sharp, clear silence that had built between the two of them, Bucky's ears perked almost painfully as Charles cleared his throat. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Rebecca's silhouette speeding down the stairs before she slid on her heels, throwing herself into the kitchen where she made far too much noise.

"What the hell," Bucky groaned to himself, shoving his phone back into his jacket pocket with much annoyance. His gaze danced back to Charles and he tried to untense his jaw, nodding. "You were saying?"

"Oh, uh," the redhead was glancing over his shoulder. Rebecca was still fussing about in the kitchen and Bucky couldn't help but roll his eyes. He turned back to him with a light shrug. "It's not the same thing, but four months ago, we found out my grandma's battling dementia. She's already in a nursing home but she went in for a check-up and... news wasn't so good. It's also been a lot of back and forth hospital visits and all that."

Bucky let out a drawn out sigh, his fingers twitching. He was really craving a cigarette right about now, but he knew Steve'd kill him if he broke his three month streak. Finally taking a step inside (why he didn't just do this earlier, he wasn't even sure himself), he closed the door behind himself, throwing an arm around Charles' broad shoulders. "Hey, man, I'm sorry. Shit sucks. Life sucks, sometimes."

"Yeah. It does suck," he agreed, but then he was sucking in his lips and fidgeting with his fingers. He cracked his knuckles and it made Bucky almost want to snort, the randomness of it awkward. "Can't imagine it being your own mom though. Seems rough."

Bucky could hear Rebecca's heels clacking against their wood flooring. He missed living at home, missed seeing his sister and mom everyday, but he was beyond grateful he could have his own place with Steve. His home was always chaotic growing up, between Rebecca herself being a spitball of energy and all her little shitty friends running around, screaming. No one ever had the decency to knock — really didn't miss the times he'd be making out with Steve and one of Rebecca's stupid kid friends would burst into his bedroom, laughing at them until Bucky forcibly shoved them out.

Kind of like last night! Was a total throwback to their horny teenage years when they'd been in the middle of, to put it lightly, an ' _advanced make out session_ ' when Rebecca came banging on the door. Steve's legs were wrapped around Bucky's persistently grinding hips, his back flat against his old study desk that creaked with every move they made, their mouths busy when suddenly, "James, Charles' computer ain't starting up and he was too shy to ask you himself for help — so that's why _I'm_ here!"

His nails created splinters as he dug them into the wood underneath Steve. He had to give Bucky a hard squeeze to pull him back to reality. Once a cockblock always a cockblock.

"Jesus, Bec. Why're you dressed so fancy? We're gonna be treading around dirt all day, sure you can walk in those?" he was gawking at her thin stilettos before she pranced over, pinching his cheek.

"They're easier to walk in than you think, James. Just one more second," she spun around, immediately heading back upstairs. With the deepest sigh he could muster, he turned back to Charles. "Good luck with her. Oh — Steve, mhm, the kids been through a lot."

Bucky felt a buzz in his pocket. He slid out his phone, pressing the side button. Displayed across his screen was a notification for two new messages, anddd they were from Steve. Of course.

He clicked them, angling his phone away from Charles' sight of view. He heard him, "Is his dad helping out at all, or is it just you two?"

He looked up for a brief moment before reading Steve's first message. The second was a picture he'd taken a few minutes ago in their car; he had on such a fake pout that it made Bucky physically ill.

 

 **Stevie-** 8:32 AM  
Buck, I'm so lonely. Come back, plz. :-(

 

"No. Dad's not in the picture anymore," he mumbled out of the side of his mouth, typing back a short response to his problem boyfriend. "Passed away when he was one."

 

 **Me** \- 8:33 AM  
Keep listening to your 1D, you'll be fine

 

"Oh jeez, I'm so sorry." Rebecca rushed over to them, sliding her arms into a charcoal colored coat; Rebecca always looked like she stepped right out of the forties, styling her entire wardrobe off of vintage pin-up models. Bucky would never admit it, but he sometimes envied how she'd always put in the effort to dress nicely. He did too, on occasion rather, but, more often than not, he found himself in the same pair of sweatpants and a falling apart band shirt. At least today he tried to dress a bit nicer, clean pair of pants and everything!

She hooked her elbow with Charles', abruptly pulling him away from Bucky's hold. He stumbled but regained his balance rather quick. Again his phone vibrated but he chose to ignore it. "He'll be okay. Honestly, he's probably the toughest person I've ever met."

"What're you two talking about?"

Bucky wiggled his brows at her. "Steve, who else?"

She led her boyfriend over to the front door, slinging a purse over her shoulder. Giving him a kiss on the cheek, she looked behind herself at Bucky, squinting. "You're always talking about Steve."

"Exactly," he winked, giving her a playful shove. He locked the door behind them, tossing the key back to Rebecca. Sliding in front of them, he knocked on the window of his car, Steve jumping in his seat. Bucky smirked at him, puckering his lips.

"How long have you known each other?" Bucky walked over to the drivers side, pulling open the door. He leaned in to give Steve a quick hair tousle then straightened his position, arms folded across the roof of his Buick. He looked back at Charles.

"Since Becca was a baby. Can you believe she was just as annoying back then?" He could see her sticking out her tongue, their mom emerging from her van. They'd been parked behind her.

The original plan was they'd drive there separately; since he planned to stay later with Steve, and no one else seemed interested in their scare adventures, they needed their own getaway vehicle. Rebecca and her boyfriend were riding with Bucky's mom while Steve and Bucky would be picking up Sarah from the hospital.

"Are we all ready to go?" she asked, sliding open the door for Rebecca and Charles. Bucky nodded at her, zipping up his leather jacket the rest of the way.

"We'll meet you there. Gonna go get Sarah now."

"You sure you don't want me to go get her? There's more room," she gestured at the car with her head, closing the door behind his sister.

"It's fine, ma. There's enough space for everyone." There was a sudden tug on the hem of his jacket. He angled himself to peer down, Steve sprawled across the driver's seat. He was smiling at him in that dopey way he always did, lopsided and with his two front teeth showing. He hunched over himself, giving Steve a light peck.

"Did you remember to clean it at least?"

"Yep, looks just like it did when I bought it. Though, I did buy it used..." he waved her off with one hand while simultaneously pushing Steve back with his other, sliding in. Door still open, he stuck out his head, calling to her, "I'll text you when we're taking off from the hospital."

"Okay, Jamesy. Be safe." He slammed the door shut, clicking his seat belt in before turning to look at Steve. He let out a slow breath, his tense and chilled body relaxing in the warmth of the cramped space.

"Hey there," he was drumming against the wheel as he reached over to open the glove compartment, pulling out a small booklet full of their favorite CDs. He picked one at random — Red Hot Chili Peppers' "Californication" — and slid it into the player. Steve was reaching for his arm, fingers entwining with his own, and that instantly made Bucky grin.

"Hey, Buck." He brushed his thumb over the hair of Steve's knuckles before briefly letting him go, pulling them out of the tight space they were crammed into (some asshole parked, literally, two inches behind them. Claustrophobic much?) Finally on the road, and giving his mom a small salute as they drove past her, he squeezed Steve.

"How're you doin', Stevie?" Pulling up to a stoplight, he took that opportunity to quickly lean over and kiss Steve, his nails ghosting a trail down the side of his neck.

"I'm okay," Steve nodded, shifting around. He glanced at Bucky, once and then twice, for a long, drawn out minute, but then he decided to rest against the window.

He flicked on the blinkers, turning down the street. Unlike that store (made him cringe thinking about how stupid he was sometimes), Bucky knew how to get to the hospital by heart. They went to see Sarah at least once or twice a week. More recently though, they'd been going every other day. Not always for long, sometimes just on their lunch breaks, but any extra second Steve could get with his mom was taken.

"Are you though?" Though it was still in the nine o'clock range, the sun was trying its hardest to peak out. It wasn't supposed to be a warm day, but his phone said it was going to be nothing less of sunny. Bucky reached into his pocket, tossing a pair of aviators into the cup holder.

At first it seemed like Steve was going to sigh, by the way his chest puffed and the audible wisps of air being sucked in through his nostrils. But then, there was a muffled sound, sort of like a snort, but much more choked. Was he going to cry? Were the waterworks starting already? He'd been giving him a free pass recently — Steve knew his own weakness (or maybe talent) was being able to burst into tears on command. Sure, it helped them out a lot when they got in trouble, but sometimes, it got real old.

God, Bucky remembered the time they watched Hachiko at school. Once a month, the teachers would gather all of the upper classes and pile everyone into the auditorium, projecting some cheesy Disney or family movie on the big screen. Popcorn was handed out to everyone, and it was supposed to be fun. Hell, getting to skip class and hang out with your best friend for an hour or two? It was the best. Or so Bucky thought.

With a plastic bowl of popcorn in his hands, Steve wriggled his way over to Bucky, sliding under his arm and leaning against his side. Now, to clarify, you might be thinking to yourself that this took place in elementary school, or middle school even. No. Steve was sixteen years old, about to cry all over his boyfriend about some actor dog in a room full of two hundred mean kids.

By the time the movie ended, there was a large, wet spot right of his chest. He'd gotten Steve to at least sob silently, but in some aspects, that made it worse because he didn't know how to explain when people gave him questioning looks. Why he's put up with Steve for so long, Bucky didn't try to think too hard about it.

To his surprise though — and he really was surprised, practically jumped out of his seat — Steve started laughing. Or, cackling actually. He was laughing so hard he had to pat his chest, take a puff of his inhaler.

"What the fuck..." Bucky's brows were knitted and he was licking at the roof of his mouth. He tried again with a question, "What's, uh, what's so funny, bud?"

"Nothing is," Steve was almost gasping for air, and Bucky wasn't going to lie, it was a bit unnerving. He understood there were steps and stages of grieving, that fear and depression could show itself in many ways. He got it, this was probably just his body's way of processing things, too cried out to be sad about it anymore.

"Well, if you're gonna be laughin' the whole way there," he could see the reflective windows of the tall hospital buildings off in the near-distance, "might as well give you something to actually laugh about. Wanna hear a joke?"

"Oh lord," Steve's head was shaking, but then he snorted. "Think I'd feel better laughing over noth—"

"What do you call a can opener that won't work?" He looked at Steve quizzically, lips kept in a firm, flat line. His poker face wasn't the best, but he was working on it.

"Not interest—"

"A can't opener." Pulling into the parking structure, he unlatched his seat belt, dangling out of the car to grab a small paper ticket. Rolling up the window in haste, he slid the ticket onto the dashboard, checking Steve's reaction. Hm, seemed like his joke killed his laughter instead. Whatever works.

"Wanna hear another?"

" _No_."

"Okay, here it is. What's Forrest Gump's password?"

"Password for what?"

He parked near the skywalk, turning his jangling keys in a quick swoop of a movement. He let himself fully curve his torso, finally getting to actually look at Steve's face. He had bags under his eyes; they didn't get much sleep. Around four or so, Steve'd jostled Bucky awake and asked if they could watch something. That's how they ended up watching far too many episodes of Friends. Seriously, that damn theme song echoed through his dreams, converting them into nightmares.

"I 'unno, email or whatever. Does it really matter?"

With Steve rolling his eyes, Bucky continued, patting Steve on the shoulder. "One Forrest one. Get it?"

Steve only groaned. "That's _so_ stupid."

"It's great. C'mon, last one. Why can't dinosaurs talk?"

"They _do_ talk," Steve cocked his head.

"I guess, sorta. Wrong answer though," he puffed out his cheeks.

"Okay, then... why? What is it?"

Bucky couldn't help but snort himself now. "'cause they're dead."

Steve threw open the door, jumping onto his feet. Hitting his head on the way out ("Christ, shit"), Bucky rounded to the other side, spinning Steve around to face him. "Aw, Stevie. Did my wonderful humor scare you away?"

"Just a bit." There was a faint smile on his face though, and after Bucky kissed his forehead, it only got wider. He felt Steve tugging the fabric on his back and, a bit roughly, he pulled him into a tight embrace, taking in the warmth of his body. He held them there, didn't let go until Steve was giving him signals and took a step back.

Grabbing his hand (Steve's almost felt hot in comparison to his own), and locking his car, they started walking down the sky walk. There were a few people lingering about, mostly doctors or nurses in brightly colored scrubs. Bucky always liked coming in the morning, was calmer and everyone seemed a lot friendlier.

"James," Steve was quiet, so Bucky hummed in response. He went on, "I love you. And yeah, I even love your dumb," with his free hand, he curled his fingers to make air quotations, "jokes."

"Love you too, Stevie. Even your scary, obnoxious laughter," he pulled him into his side, kissing the top of his head. His hair still smelled like Rebecca's shampoo, faintly of strawberries, and it made him bite his tongue.

"It's not scary..."

"You admittin' it's obnoxious though?" Bucky pressed the top button for the elevator, watching as it changed colors.

Its doors slowly opened with a faint 'ding', and the pair stepped inside. Bucky hit 'four'; she was in a generalized wing, but for long-term patients. For some reason, there was music playing, somewhat smooth jazz sounding. Bucky didn't even think elevators did that anymore.

Over the hardly relaxing tune, Steve muttered, "maybe."

"Gonna quote you on that one, Rogers." As soon as the doors eerily squeaked open and they stepped foot into the overly bright hallway, Steve's chest puffed with a hitched breath. He was holding onto him tighter and he could see the muscles in his thin neck straining more than usual. "Steve."

His blues flickered up to him and Bucky did his best to force his lips to curl, his eyebrows lowering into a softened expression. He knew Steve was going to be on edge all day, and honestly, that little voice in the back of his mind had been pestering him all morning with the idea that this was actually going to make things worse, instead of being a fun activity to feel like everything was normal again.

His throat suddenly felt scratchy and like words were getting stuck as they tried coming out. He coughed, slightly, and ran his tongue over his teeth, bringing Steve to room 427. Her door was still closed (usually meant she was still sleeping), and Bucky took that as an opportunity to level himself with Steve, kissing him gently. "Honey, try to enjoy yourself today. Forget about," he nodded, "all of this and just focus on her bein' there with us."

"Hard to when I know she's gonna be back here at the end of the day and not with us."

"Then don't think so far ahead, idiot," he tapped on Steve's temple. "Anyone ever tell you to live in the moment?"

"I'm trying, James," Steve shifted his position, resting his shoulder against the wall. His head lulled in the direction of Bucky; he'd let go of his hand to fiddle with his inhaler inside his coat pocket. There was an irritated sounding sigh Steve released before he was mouthing words to himself first, finally speaking. "You keep saying this shit, telling me to stay positive or enjoy the little time I get with her, but... you don't get what it's like to be losing your fucking parent."

But, that's when Steve caught himself and his cheeks had flushed a new color of pink Bucky'd never quite seen before. He looked like he'd been paralyzed, his fidgeting pausing, even his breaths stilling. Bucky figured he was trying to read his face, see if he was pissed at him. He overstepped himself, but, Bucky didn't hold it against him. It was the stress speaking, he knew that. Nothing personal.

He took a step closer, brushed his thumb along the sharp curve of Steve's cheek bone and hushed, "hey, asshole? I know exactly what it's like."

"I'm sor—" Bucky shook his head, finger shushing him.

"You're fine, Stevie," Bucky twirled his fingers through the back of Steve's hair, tracing along the edge of his ear gently. Steve was meeting his glance again and his eyelashes were flickering against freckles; Bucky was pulling him again into himself, arms wrapping around his waist. "Don't forget that though. Been in your shoes too buddy. Know it's your second time around, but, I can still gauge all the shit you're feeling."

There was a loud sniffle against his chest. "Buck, can I ask you something?"

"Is that the question?"

Steve pinched his side, getting both of them to chuckle before a dreary silence took over again. "No, uh. What do you think happens when you die? Think there's actually a better place out there?"

"Like... heaven?"

"Not heaven, but... peace, I guess? I don't want her to be scared or, stuck in fear 'cause she's gone and doesn't know where she is or something."

"Haven't really thought of this since I..." he cupped Steve's chin, his minuscule stubble pricking his skin, "stopped going to Sunday service _eleven_ years ago. C'mon Steve, you forgetting everything about me today?"

Steve sucked in his cheek, forehead creasing. "I just mean — when your dad passed away, what helped you get through it?"

"Uhm, you," he admitted with a shrug. "Was worse 'cause I was too young to really understand the concept that death's permanent. But, it all sorta felt okay seeing your stupid face everyday at school."

"Really?" Steve's voice cracked. It almost made Bucky upset that Steve seemed so surprised by his answer.

"You always make me feel better, Steve," he playfully slapped his bicep, running circles over his sleeve. "You're all I really had back then."

"You're, seriously, all I have."

"Hey, you still got her, so don't waste it."

"—excuse me?" They both looked in the direction of a young woman, probably close to their age; her brunette hair was swung back into a pony tail, a light grey, plastic clipboard held against her navy scrubs. "Is one of you," she flipped a page, "Mr. Barnes?"

"That would be me," he firmly took her free hand into his own, giving her a shake. She tapped the tip of her ballpoint pen against her chin, scooting between the pair. Opening the door (they both peered in, surprised to see Sarah awake and nearly finished with her breakfast tray), she gave her a small wave, looking back over her shoulder.

"You talked to Dr. McDowell last week, right?"

"Mhm." Pressing against the small of Steve's back, he gave him a shove, nodding towards his mom. He could hear her voice, cheerful as always, as she said, "Good morning sweetheart" in a sing-song manner. He rocked himself on the balls of his feet, nervously smoothing back his hair. "Think everything's been signed. Was given the a-okay with the medical clearance too."

"Actually went over the papers this morning. Just wanted to be sure," she was smiling at him for what seemed like a second too long before she muttered a quiet "oh" and spun around somewhat flustered, hauling over a still folded wheelchair, leaning it against the wall. "I'll be the one coming with you guys today. Names Becca."

"Really?" He tried not to snort, opting to shake his head instead. But, at the sight of her confused expression, he stopped himself, sucking in a sharp breath. "Sorry, it's just — that's my sister's name too. She's also gonna be there with us."

"Oh, I see," Becca let out short puff of laughter. He could see her watching Sarah, and so he turned his own head; Steve was sitting on the edge of her bed as she patted his hip, a magazine (looked like one about interior design) lain open on her lap. "May I ask what your relation is to Sarah?"

He licked across his lips, eyes again meeting the nurse's. "'m Steve's boyfriend" —he might've been seeing things, but he swore her smile faltered— "uh, Steve's her son. The dumb blond."

"I can hear you!" Steve called out, Bucky rolling his eyes in response. "Yep, that's him."

He could feel Sarah watching him, the back of his skull itching something awful, before she said, "James." She was patting the empty side of her bed. Muttering a low "excuse me", he walked into her room and sat opposite of Steve. Her hand cupped over his own.

"Hi Sarah," Bucky kissed her cheek; worryingly warm, but the smile she gave him always melted away his unconscious worries.

Though they'd been here countless times before and, in some ways, Bucky was almost desensitized to the fact that they were in a hospital, the gratitude that he felt for Sarah being where she was never diminished. It was the same hospital she'd worked at previously, and, her insurance luckily was paying for most of her treatment and stay, despite a few bills that slipped by. But, the amount of leftover copay was still sparse; while Bucky didn't consider himself a man of faith any longer, he did consider that to be a blessing.

Steve'd gotten upset at first when Bucky'd offered to help pay anything that insurance wouldn't cover. He put up a big fight, yelling at Bucky until his face turned red and he was out of words. But, within time, Bucky slowly eased him up on the subject; he had to accept that Bucky wasn't asking Steve if he could pay, but simply telling him that he and his mom would do whatever they could to help them out.

Sarah had a decently sized room. Private and with its own bathroom, even had a shower with better pressure than what they had back in their one bedroom apartment. There was a wide window that overlooked the city's streets, let in an abundance of daylight (which was good, she needed that extra sun on the days she couldn't get outside) and had a ledge windowsill with a cushion big enough to lay down on.

There were also two chairs, recliners and, as Bucky had learned, weren't too horribly uncomfortable to sleep in. When Sarah was first admitted, Steve didn't want to go anywhere, understandably so. They'd stayed in the ER with her for two days straight before she was finally accepted to be admitted; they hadn't known it was going to be quite so long term at first, but they knew she wasn't going to be coming home anytime soon.

Bucky'd left Steve at the hospital to run back to their place. Packed a bag with a few pairs of pajamas and comfortable clothes, threw in a magazine or two and grabbed Steve's laptop, and then made a final pit stop at Taco Bell. Seeing his mom that sick really fucked with his head — trapped in a persistent state of anxiety, food was the last thing on his mind. Bucky practically force fed him, pulled Steve onto his lap and tapped on his knuckles anytime he took too long in between bites.

"Are you excited for today? Haven't been apple picking in a long time, huh?" He rubbed her with the side of his thumb, enjoying the sounds of her faint chuckles.

Sarah nodded. "Not since you boys were," the sounds of quick footsteps clambering down the halls distracted the attention of everyone in the room. A young boy, his blond hair slicked back raced besides a brunet that looked a few years older. The boys were dressed in jean jackets and matching scarves. Behind them came, what Bucky assumed, the dad, calling out to them to slow down. "Since you were that small."

"Think it'll be a lot of fun," he reverted back to watching Steve, who was still looking outside the door. He could see how distant he looked in his eyes, like he wasn't fully there, stuck somewhere deep in his thoughts. His one leg that dangled off the bed started jumping, up and down, up and down, and that made Bucky take in a long breath. He wasn't sure Sarah appreciated the entire bed shaking, but he also knew Steve couldn't help it. So, to bring Steve back to earth, he said, "Stevie's real nervous about going."

His head quickly whipped back in his direction, his lips parting with a crease of his brows. Questioning look, but also warning. Bucky added, "think it's cause of the haunted houses though." Saved his own ass real good on that one.

"Haunted houses?" Sarah echoed.

"Mhm. Convinced him to go in at least one with me. Not 'til later tonight."

"That sounds more stressful than it would be fun."

"Oh, trust me, it'll be fun when Stevie gets his pants scared off."

"Oh my God, I'm not gonna get scared," Steve retorted, puffing out his cheeks.

Bucky winked at him. "We'll see about that."

"Excuse me," Becca peered her head back into the room. She had a black elastic band around her wrist, which was soon used to tie her hair back into a neater ponytail. With her hands free, she hauled in the wheelchair, unfolding it with ease. "Not to interrupt the conversation, but I forgot to ask if you drove here."

"Oh, yeah. We did," Bucky nodded, waving towards the hall. "We parked near the sky walk."

"If you want to go get your car started, we can meet you out in the front of the hospital" she pulled out a set of keys connected to a lanyard from her pocket, unlocking a tall metal cabinet. She pulled out a resealable bag, full of what seemed to be pill packets. "There's a roundabout section you can pull up to, usually where all the taxis go. Does that sound okay? It's going to take a few more minutes to make sure we have everything to go, and then a couple more to get downstairs."

Nodding a second time, he stood up with a crack of his knees, shuffling over to Steve's side. The hesitation was obvious when he pulled on Steve's elbow, he didn't want to leave her. He stroked down his forearm. They'd get to spend the whole day with her, they wouldn't be leaving for long, though he was sure every minute he didn't spend with her felt like years of being apart.

Once Steve was on his feet, Bucky hooked his arm around his waist, cheek pressed to the side of his head. "Sure. Does she uh, have any medications you gotta bring that we need to know about, or..."

"Nope. Nothing you two need to worry about." She slid the bag into the back pocket of the wheelchair, rounding to the side where they weren't standing. "We'll see you in," she looked at her wrist, "maybe fifteen minutes?"

"Sounds good. We'll see you down there then."

 

 

* * *

 

 

The drive to Green Meadows could be summed up in two words: _excruciating_ and _boring_. The long drive (that, honestly wasn't that horrible considering it was only an hour) felt like ten years when the only thing Bucky had to focus on besides the endless amount of road was the faint hum of something static on the radio and the chitter chatter Steve had with his mom. At least that brought him a bit of amusement, made him smile and definitely reminded him why he was doing this.

But, still, that wasn't much as far as entertainment went. He wanted to ask if everyone wanted to play a game, like the ones they used to play as kids on road trips, but he felt a newfound shyness. Before they left, they had a conversation about damn seating arrangements that lasted nearly five minutes, going back and forth between Steve wanting to sit with his mom, but also next to Bucky, but Bucky had to drive and Becca felt like it was important she sat next to Sarah, but there wasn't enough room for all three of them to sit in the back. Hell, Bucky considered just telling Becca she could drive so Sarah could sit up front with her and he could cradle Steve in the backseat.

In the end, they decided on Becca riding shotgun and Steve sitting beside his mom. Bucky was a good enough driver that, in the case of an emergency, he could pull over relatively quick.

Becca sitting next to him made him squirm a little in his seat. He wanted to strike up a conversation with her, maybe go down a mundane line of questions such as, "So, when did you get into nursing" and "Are you still in school?" and "What's your favorite animal? 'cause they got a petting zoo there, and usually they got all your typical farm animals — horses, sheep, llama. But, me? I'm a goat man myself."

He didn't say a word though. Instead breathed through his nostrils and kept his teeth grit until they finally got there. When they pulled up in the dusty dirt parking lot, he let out a sigh of relief. Glad to be there, and extra glad it wasn't too crowded. That was the last thing they needed on top of everything else, having to battle crowds and drown out the sound of screaming children that got separated from their parents.

"We're here," he announced, the first words he'd said since they left the hospital. Off in the distance — he squinted to make sure — he could spot a group of familiar faces. His mom was standing outside of her van, talking to Rebecca, who was leaning into Charles' side (which made Bucky groan). There was an empty space next to them, that he rightfully snatched up.

Rolling down the window, he called out, "Long time no see."

His mom waved in their direction, greeting them with a wide smile. "I was just about to call you."

"Yeah, sorry. Took a bit longer than we expected," he turned off the engine, looking over his shoulder, eyes locking with Steve's. "You both ready?"

Though Steve'd been chatting up a storm with his mom, it was like the same nervousness to speak that Bucky felt had washed over him. Instead of saying anything back, he simply nodded before he was opening his door. Bucky quickly jumped out, walking over to him; Becca was working on pulling the wheelchairs out of the trunk, introducing herself to Bucky's family.

Gripping him by a bony shoulder, he led Steve further away from their gathering group. Steve shrugged at the touch, trying to break free from him. He didn't let himself frown, but he felt the corners of his lips quivering, begging to be pulled down.

"You still doin' okay, Stevie?" Steve was looking down at the ground, his already scuffed shoes kicking up dust clouds. He could hear Sarah compliment his sister, saying something along the lines of how she thought she'd be a perfect runway model in Paris.

Still with no response, Bucky looked towards the sky, flicking his tongue across his lips. "Hey. You gonna talk to me?"

"I'm fine. Don't _baby_ me."

Bucky felt a bit hurt, he wasn't going to lie, taken aback from his sudden souring in mood. Again, he wasn't going to hold this against him. He actually commended Steve for being able to keep his shit together moderately well. "I ain't babying you. Just want to make sure—"

He cut him off, looking over his shoulder with a huff. "I just... want to go and be with my mom, okay?"

Bucky nodded, trying to keep his nostrils from flaring. "Okay."

What happens next all blurs together; of course he was ecstatic to have Sarah out with them, and he soaked up every second he spent with Steve, loved all the outings they went on and appreciated their tradition of going on a date every Friday night when they both got back from work. But, today, Bucky feels like he's shifted into autopilot, subconsciously riding in the passenger seat as his body goes through all of the motions he knows he wants to do, but doesn't have to think about to actually do them.

Steve wasn't the only one that was stressed out about Sarah dying. Of course he wasn't, and he could recognize how much it was weighing on Bucky too. He couldn't actually remember the last time they had a home cooked meal. Both of them never had the energy anymore to whip up something from scratch.

When Bucky blinks hard, they're already in the orchard, surrounded by tall trees bustling with bright red apples (though, some were still green). Retracing his steps, he remembered them heading towards the ticket booth at the front of the fair grounds. He payed for everyone's entrance, the least he could do — thankfully group pricing made everything a tad bit cheaper. Once they'd gotten their tickets (and, Bucky also got admission to the hayride later that night, to which Steve deeply sighed and made his mom laugh), a worker wearing a pumpkin orange vest — Bucky cringed — led them towards the orchard. They ended up with two baskets; one to be shared among Steve, his mom and Sarah's nurse, and the other for Bucky's mom and his sister.

Steve was walking front of the group, alongside his mom. With one hand, he was holding onto his mom's, and, with his free arm, he pointed around at things. He couldn't exactly hear what he was talking about, but he could hear his tone of voice; slight shake in his words, cracking in between sentences.

Winnie was on the other side of Sarah, half engrossed in a conversation between her and her nurse, who was steadily pushing her along. Behind him was Rebecca and her boyfriend, leisurely strolling at their own pace. That left Bucky standing smack dab in the center, with no one to talk to and, honestly, he felt left out. His fingers started to twitch, itch and that's when he found himself timidly tapping on Steve's shoulder.

"What?" Steve looks at him over his shoulder, words mumbled.

"Can I," he shook his head, reaching for Steve's hand; now his hands were colder than Bucky's. "Can I walk next to you?"

"Do you have to ask?"

"Guess not," he awkwardly snickers. More back and forth chatter is exchanged before Steve leans closer into his side and softly says, "Buck."

"Hm?" he hums.

"Do you —" Steve's blues are sparkling, and he can already tell they're starting to redden again. "do you mind if I go off with my mom for a little, alone?"

"Do you really have to ask _that_?" He combed his fingers through Steve's short blond locks, kissing his temple for a long moment. Speaking against his skin, "Whatever you need, honey. Just uh, call me when you want to regroup."

"Okay, Buck. Thanks. I love you so much."

"I love you too, Stevie."

Letting go of Steve made his chest clench — Steve needed his alone time, and Bucky got that, but it still made him uncomfortable not being with him twenty four hours of every single day. Probably wouldn't ever get over that separation anxiety, but he could at least try to distract himself from it. Looking at his own mom, he gestures her over towards Rebecca.

"Hey, so, Steve wants to be alone with his mom for a bit. You guys mind splitting up for now?"

"Of course not, sweetheart. Is he okay?"

"He's fine. Just needs some quiet time with her. Uh—" as he was about to turn his head to look back towards the entrance, he feels Rebecca jumping on him. Thank God he played a lot of video games and had cat like reflexes (sike, but he tried), or else he would've dropped her on her ass in the mud. Which, in retrospect, would've been damn hilarious.

"God, what the fuck—" his mom's brows grew closer to her hairline "what're you doing, Bec? You ain't a kid." He hooked his arms under her knees, looking towards Charles. "Seriously, how do you deal with this?"

"Being here makes me feel like a kid, James. Can't I indulge in that for at least two seconds?"

"No." He replied, flat.

"Oh well," she nuzzled her nose into the crook of his neck, making him shiver in annoyance.

"Did you hear what I was telling ma? That we're gonna split up for a bit 'cause Stevie wants to go off with Sarah."

"Mhm. Your voice projects really well."

"Oh, fu— screw you. Ma, did you still want to do the apple thing?"

She looked down at the woven basket in her hands. Her painted nails tapped against the handle. "Wouldn't mind getting a few more for apple pies. Oh! Or, apple sauce. The neighbors just had a baby, the cutest little boy you'll ever see."

"That's real nice," Bucky shifted his weight onto his other leg, shoving Rebecca higher onto him. Jesus, he really didn't feel in the mood to be giving his stupid sister a piggyback in the cold weather when his own boyfriend was ignoring him (okay, not ignoring, he had to remind himself, he just needed his space). Apparently it never mattered what he wanted though, because he was just there to cater to everyone else's needs. Clearly. "I was thinking about checking out the petting zoo. Guess both of us will, since I got a leech."

"Can Charles come?"

"What, and _leave_ ma all by herself?"

"I don't mind staying," Charles added, rubbing his neck.

"What, you don't like baby animals?" Rebecca laughed all too loud in Bucky's ear, and it really made the urge to flip her right off his back grow stronger.

"I do. But, apple picking makes me think of my grandparents actually. They use to have an apple tree in their backyard, along with some cherry trees. They'd give us twenty five cents for each fruit we'd brought in. Well, each one that wasn't rotten, at least."

"Sounds like you two," Bucky pointed between Rebecca's boyfriend and their mom, "will get along just fine. See you in an hour."

 

 

* * *

 

 

"I've always wanted to ask why you like goats so much," Rebecca was sitting on a bale of hay, her elbows pressed to her knees as she leaned over herself, watching Bucky. "But, I guess this explains it all."

Bucky on the other hand didn't mind getting a little dirty, especially when it meant he'd draw in a crowd of adorable baby animals. He sat on the ground, cross legged with a baby goat curled up on his lap like it was a needy cat. Behind him was another, his coat a mix of white and brown spots, nudging at his elbow with his nose. The longer he sat there the more attention he got; one tried jumping up on him, his hooves pressed to a shoulder.

"S'why they call me the goat whisper, Bec," Bucky hushed, stroking his fingers through the goat's rough, short fur.

Her eyes narrowed and it made him snort, almost too much. " _No_ one calls you that."

"You're right. But, they _should_."

"Wait, can you get them to stay still?" Rebecca started rummaging through her purse, fishing for her phone. Pulling it out a moment later, she unlocked it, angling herself in his direction.

"I can try, but they're animals, Bec."

"Yeah, but you're the goat whisper, remember. Use your powers."

"Aight, fine," he looks at the group of goats surrounding him; there were six now, he counted, all curiously watching him like he was their ruler. Bucky the goat overlord, had a good ring to it. So he focused on one in particular, staring him down.

"Hey buddy," he coos, continuing slowly stroking his fingers down the back of the one in his lap. Moving his other hand, the one he had pressed against loose hay and grass underneath them, he stretched it out in front of him. "Wanna come over and sit?"

He could hear the trainer that'd let them into the pen laugh to herself. He was sure the sight looked a bit... crazy, to say the least. Some random guy comes in and plops himself down in the dirt only for every goat in the damn barnyard to grow interested with him.

"I'm gonna have to show mom this later," she says as she quickly snaps a few different shots. "They're all over you. You don't even have treats, which is the funny part."

"They probably think I'm their new dad or something."

"You'd adopt all of them in a heartbeat if you could, don't lie."

He felt himself grinning, looking back at Rebecca. "What do you think Steve's reaction would be if he came back home and our apartment was full of goats?"

"I can't speak for Steve, but my first thought would be, ' _I need to get the hell out of here_ '."

"Aw, but, Bec," with the gentlest touch, he grabbed the small goat's jaw and angled it towards his sister, squishing up his cheeks, "why'd you ever want to get away from this?" With a clear of his throat, he puts on a high pitched voice, moving his fingers to pull on the animal's bottom lips, feigning its speech. "We love you, Rebecca. Don't leave us!"

"You're _so_ weird."

"You expect me to be any different?"

"No."

"Exactly." Pressed against his thigh, he felt a series of buzzes. He knows its Steve, knows he needs to check to make sure everything's okay, but there came the dilemma. How was he going to pull out his phone without disturbing his new best friend? Carefully he shoved his hand into his pocket, trying not to jostle the baby too much. Pulling out his phone, he's greeted with a notification for three new texts.

 

 **Stevie** \- 12:26 PM

Hey Buck. I'm sorry if that was rude. I wasn't trying to be

 **Stevie** \- 12:26 PM  
I just wanted to be alone with her for a little 

 **Stevie** \- 12:27 PM  
We talked about a lot of stuff

 

 

Texting back with one thumb proved to be difficult, but Bucky persevered.

 

 

 **Me** -12:28 PM  
Steve, you don't gotta apologize. I'm glad you got to spend time alone with your mom. What'd you talk about?

 **Stevie** \- 12:28 PM  
I'll tell you later

 **Stevie** \- 12:28 PM  
I'm with your mom now tho, where are you?

 

 

Bucky smirked to himself. Holding up the phone in front of himself, he flicks open his camera and switches it to selfie mode, taking a wide angle shot of him and his new fur family. He sent it back to Steve, his phone immediately buzzing in response.

  
**Stevie** \- 12:29 PM  
Of course. Should've expected that. 

 **Stevie** \- 12:29 PM  
They aren't coming to live with us. 

 **Me** \- 12:30 PM  
Pleaseeeeee

 **Stevie** \- 12:31 PM  
No.

 **Me** \- 12:31 PM  
=(

 

 

Looking up from his phone, he nodded towards his sister. "Hey. Steve's with ma and wants us to head back, I think. You about ready to get going?"

"I don't know, are _you_?"

He rubbed behind the goats ears, massaging them with both his thumbs; he can see his eyes start to close, like he was on the verge of drifting off into sleep. Before he got too relaxed, he reluctantly nudged him from his lap (hardest thing he's ever had to do). Getting to his feet, he brushed off his pants with a pout. "As ready as I'll ever be," and he accents this with a long, overly sad, overly dramatic sigh.

"Thanks for coming," the woman standing near the gate says, unlocking the latch. "Don't think I've ever seen anything like that before, and I've been working here for six years."

"Yes, well, that's my brother for you. Making strange things happen everywhere he goes."

"Not strange. They liked me and accepted me as one of their own," Bucky said as he pushed Becca, moving his way past her.

As they make their way back to the rest of their group, Bucky takes a long glance towards the pumpkin patch. The sound of those damn sirens still echo deep in his ears. He doesn't think he'll ever forget that sound, or the sound of Steve gripping a pumpkin so hard its skin dented. But, as he's lost in thought of the memories of that... unfortunate night, he doesn't realize the fucking soul piercing, cold as ice stare he's getting from an old man that's sitting in a folded chair on the outskirts of the patch. His eyes — they're too familiar to him and it makes him swallow hard.

Oh, God.  That couldn't be the same guard that'd found them and called the police on them,  _could_ it? He had to get out of there, this wasn't a drill. Hell, he'd even give Rebecca another piggy back ride if they meant they could skedaddle sooner.

Grabbing onto his sister's wrist with way too much force, he practically dragged her off like a rag doll, moving as quickly as he humanly could.

 

* * *

 


	10. Pumpkins, again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long day out, Bucky gave up on trying to drive them back home and crashes at Clint's place instead, which he soon realized was a mistake because now Clint's trying to pressure Bucky into opening up more about his feelings and not be so closed off from Steve, playing the tough guy act 24/7. Plus, he brings up something that Bucky keeps trying to forget, which is just great.
> 
> Their day isn't any less hectic than the one before. Bucky also gets a call and finds out that Sarah isn't doing the best. And then Steve tells him he wants to sleep over at the hospital, but Bucky's forced to go home and be babysat by Clint (who's n o t good at his job).

* * *

 

 

There was a faint lingering smell of coffee wafting through the air that pulled Bucky from half awake to eagerly opening his eyes; but, when his blurred vision focused on his surroundings, that didn’t register the darkly painted walls that were covered in photos of babies he’s never seen before, and he was met with one beady eye watching him, he regretted his choice of not trying to sleep in longer.

Lucky was stretched out on top of him, his paws placed to his chest and dry nose tucked under his chin like a needy toddler that wanted to cuddle. Guess he had the same charm as Steve because he instantly gave in, wrapping his arms around his back, roughing up his yellow tufts until he started whining and panting happily, tail wagging and whacking against Steve’s thigh, who was lying to his right.

He was on his side, curled up with his knees tucked to his stomach, forehead resting against Bucky’s shoulder and fingers clenched around his sleeve. Still very much asleep, but looking not so relaxed (not that Bucky was exactly relaxed either).

It was a long day yesterday. When they’d gotten back to their car, that was the first time they’d been able to sit for more than fifteen minutes and stretch their legs. Bucky felt guilty, like he owed Steve an apology, and that was the first thing he said to Steve, after closing his door and throwing a blanket over his lap. How sorry he was (which Steve just tiredly laughed and brushed his fingers through Bucky’s hair). He knew it was hard on Steve to walk that long; his feet would get cramps, joints locking up and muscles sorer than one could imagine.

It's not like he ever talked about it though, or complained about it, for that matter. Bucky just knew him long enough, could see it in his expression— back in high school, he used to give Steve massages sometimes after the rough days. He’d throw a towel down on his bed and trace down the off-centered curve of his spine, or the protruding definition of his ribs (that were a lot better now). Didn’t always help, but, let’s be honest, Bucky always enjoyed them too.

And, included with not stopping for real rest, they hadn’t eaten actual food the whole day, unless you count bobba and splitting a bagel as a meal. They’d stopped for food before heading home; it was ten at night, exhaustion was washing over them both, and over a plate of cinnamon pancakes coated in far too much extra sugar (Bucky loved whip cream, who can blame him), he asked if they could crash at Clint's.

See, after Steve and Bucky’s family had decided to head out around three, they were left with nothing to do for the next five hours. Steve was visibly crying, and Bucky visibly didn't know what to do. When Becca, both of them, were helping his mom into Winnie's van, Steve didn't want to say goodbye. He didn't want to give his mom a parting kiss or wave, watch them drive away.

Instead, he trudged off and stopped answering any texts Bucky sent his way. He found him tucked under a tree in an empty picnic area; there were a few charcoal grills with wooden tables surrounding them, probably nice in the summer.

He sat next to Steve, and that's when he collapsed on him. The first thing that came to his mind was getting more company. It's not that it wasn't good just hanging out the two of them. Rather, that's when the best of their adventures happened, but that's also not what Steve needed right now. He needed distraction, needed support and smiles surrounding him, more than Bucky could provide by himself.

So he said he had to go to the bathroom and instead, he lingered around to call up all of their friends. Sent texts to anyone he could think of until he finally got back a 'yes’ in response.

 

**Hey, anyone up for a good scare tonight? Stevie really needs it, would be better with you guys.**

 

Peggy, Clint, and of fucking course, Tony were the three that said they'd had the night off, or had nothing better to do (Tony's reason, said he was only doing it because he was bored, a fan of cheesy haunted houses, and for Steve as a Halloween gift. Then Bucky started to worry that you were supposed to give gifts on Halloween…)

They weren't going to be arriving until sevenish, so that still left them with too much free time on their hands. Bucky opened up his phone's GPS and shoved Steve into the car, not without plenty of groaning and protesting though. Steve put in the address for him (bless his heart) of a nearby arcade.

Bucky was always jealous of this newer generation— it was more socially acceptable now to be into 'nerdy’ things, with shows like _Game of Thrones_ or _The Walking Dead_ , that were so ingrained into their modern culture that no one batted an eye if you wore merch from the shows or nested in the library with a stack of graphic novels. When they were younger, they'd always get teased as a pair for being ‘geeks’, because they preferred to hang around an arcade on a Saturday night instead of a jock's over crowded, over boozed, sweaty party.

Actually was the reason Bucky got suspended from school for three days once; middle school during lunch, they'd been sitting at their usual table, tucked into the corner of the cafeteria under the window. Bucky was reading over Steve's shoulder as he fiddled around with the empty packaging to a candy bar. Well, reading until Steve's comic book was snatched out from under his fingers.

Hodge, big stupid Gilmore Hodge that'd been hounding over Steve since they were in kindergarten, couldn't give up his game. Like he'd been put down on earth solely to traumatize their lives. Bucky groaned and met Steve's eyes. One perk of knowing a guy since you were kids was being able to mentally communicate. Without speaking a single word, they'd formulated a plan of escape; get past the cafeterias doors and head towards the art room. Steve was the teacher's favorite student (of course, why wouldn't he be), and she'd always said to them, if they needed a quiet place to eat their lunch, they could always use her room. They'd only taken up that offer once before, but they were thinking about cashing in that voucher a second time.

Plan failed immediately though when Hodge sat down with a shit eating grin on his face. Then, Bucky started to lose all his focus at the sound of pages tearing. His knuckles whitened on the table, had to steady himself as he gripped onto Steve's knee. But then he'd felt Steve tapping on his wrist and nodding at him. The signal.

So he gave that fucker a few good licks, and got more than a few good yellings from the principle, and even more from his mom. Worth it though. Anything was worth it for Steve.

Bucky cashed in a twenty dollar bill and they hit up all the classics; Mrs. Pacman for Steve, Space Invaders for Bucky, bit of air hockey for them both (and DDR, the only type of dancing Steve ever allowed himself to do). Whenever he’d looked over at Steve, tucked under his arm and leaning all his weight into his side, he was met with a wide grin. His eyes were still glistening, reddened in the corners and wet eyelashes clumped together, but that smile was genuine. Pure in that sort of way that tugged at Bucky’s heart and made him feel weak in the knees, made him unable to control himself as he pulled Steve closer and went in for a long kiss.

All in all, it’d been a good day. It was good to see Sarah out and about, and now the arcade was a good distraction to take both of their minds off of wondering what the next few weeks would be like. With his fingers wrapped around his wrist, Steve dragged Bucky over to one of those ticket chance kids games you’d usually find at a Chuck E Cheese. Steve’d looked at him first, like he was worried about spending their quarters (but, come on, the cup was still mostly full), but Bucky shrugged, saying, “ _Go for it_.”

He pulled out his phone quickly, checking the time and mentally noting that Tony had texted him that he was already on the way. As he was about to text him back a simple ‘See you soon’, the machine emitted a loud noise that made it sound like Steve won the damn lottery. Which guess he did because soon the machine was spitting out a receipt for ten _thousand_ tickets.

“ _Um, what the fuck_?” Bucky looked at Steve, his expression blank.

“ _I-I ‘unno. Hit the jackpot, I guess._ ”

“ _You sure you ain’t a witch, Stevie_ …?”

All he did was wink in reply and tug Bucky over to the next game. When they’d cashed out, their grand total was fourteen thousand nine hundred and seventy six. Between the mix of his crazy voucher and Bucky being a skee ball master, their accumulated tickets were enough to get them a brand new Star Wars Lego set. Bucky didn’t want to openly admit how excited he was, but, he was pretty eager to get home and build it the next day.

“Hey guys,” Bucky blinked hard. He felt like he was still in a half dream state, the memories of yesterday almost more vivid than the reality he was seeing around him. At the sound of Clint’s voice, Lucky excitedly jumped from the mattress, stirring Steve awake and pressing way too hard on… he kicked Bucky real good in the main pain center, okay.

“Awh, didn’t know you had a friend camping out with ya. Hey buddy,” Clint gripped Lucky’s paws, rubbing behind his ears. But, Bucky opted to tune them out by rolling onto his side, with a long groan, to meet Steve’s face, watch as his eyes flickered open and his nose sleepily twitched like a rabbits.

“Morning sunshine,” he murmured, brushing his bangs behind his ear.

“Hi,” Steve’s lips curved into a tired smile as he leaned closer, softly kissing Bucky. His ears perked at the sound of Clint clearing his throat.

“Can we help you?” Bucky asked, dry.

Clint let out a pathetic whine before he was crawling onto the bed and wedging himself between Steve and Bucky, wiggling around until all three of them felt mildly uncomfortable. “Just feel so left out.”

“And now you’re here.”

“Here I am. I get a good morning kiss too? I’m blond, I fit the qualifications.”

Bucky worried his bottom lip. His eyes so wanted to roll to the back of his head, but he tried to be more respectful, for once. Wait, why was he trying to be respectful to _Clint_? “Natural blondes only, Barton.”

“What about Lucky then?”

Lucky’s head cocked at the mention of his name, and before Bucky knew it, the dog was flying back on top of him, licking down his cheek and nails digging into his shirt. Why why _why_ did he ask to stay here.

“You boys awake yet? There’s coffee and donu—” Natasha stopped dead in her tracks in the doorway. Bucky knew it was a weird sight; three men crammed into one bed, including her own fiancé, with a dog stretched out and wiggling across them all. Was like a scene out of a bad (romantic) comedy. Or, maybe the three stooges was a better fit.

She put her hands on her hips. “What in the hell.”

“Nat, _save_ me,” Steve whimpered. Clint cupped his hand over his mouth, trying his best to sit up but failing as Lucky kept inching further up their chests until they were trapped and were his prisoners.

“ _Nat_ , save _me_ , they told me to get in bed with ‘em because they were so lonely, and now look what happened. Lucky’s so starved for damn attention he won’t let us leave!”

“No one _invited_ you to bed,” Steve mumbled.

“Oh my God, could you be farther from the truth?” And with a clear of his own throat, Bucky locked eyes with Natasha, “ _Natalia_ , eto yego oshibka.”

Bucky could hear Steve laughing under his breath, see the utterly horrified expression on Clint's face; it's not like Bucky's Russian was near fluent, at all, but he knew more than Clint, that was damn sure. He actually studied for the tests and payed attention in class, unlike the bleach blond someone next to him.

She quirked a brow. “Deystvitel'no? Vot eto da.”

“On _nachal_ _eto_.”

“Hm,” she hummed, tapping her fingers against the doorframe. “On second thought, breakfast in bed isn't a bad idea either.”

“Wait, _don't_ encourage this,” Bucky warned, but then Natasha was already disappearing down the stairs and coming back with four mugs in her fists.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you have any photos?” The four of them were sitting on the messy bed. Breakfast in bed, more like picnic at the zoo (Bucky audibly snorted to himself, which earned him a cock of the head from Clint). Lucky calmed down finally, laying on the floor and chewing on one of his toys while the adults sat together drinking coffee, but Clint's frantic movements of his arms every five seconds made Bucky think they'd have to be doing laundry soon. And yes, _them_ as in _him and Steve_ specifically, because if he'd leave them with their groceries, why wouldn't he make them wash his dirty sheets too?

Steve's knee was bumping with Bucky's as he leaned his head against his shoulder. “Buck's got a photo actually of the five of us, few seconds before someone scared the hell outta Tony.”

“Oh, yeah,” he half chuckled, reaching over for his phone that was shoved under a pillow. He turned on the screen, flipping to his gallery and handed it to Natasha. “I thought Stevie was gonna bail out ‘cause he’s a chicken shit,” Steve rightfully pinched him, _hard,_ “but Tony was stallin’ and kept chatting up the workers so we didn’t have to get in line.”

Clint added, “Peggy was getting fed up because it was damn obvious he was already scared, so she asked James if he’d ask one of the workers to sneak up on him and she’d go get someone to take our photo.”

He was leaning over Natasha as he watched her swipe through the photos. There were a few short videos Bucky took, one during the actual maze (and Clint screaming like a little girl, but he wasn’t going to rat him out), and then a photo of all of them on the tractor, taken selfie style. Peggy was sitting in the middle of them, all of them practically shoved on top of her lap. Everyone would always admit that Peggy was the strongest of the group (aside for Natasha who would beat the shit out of someone for breathing too close to her), and so they used that logic as to why they forced her to go first and used her like a human meat shield against the costumed monsters jumping at them.

“S’worked out perfectly ‘cause that’s when I ran into that Thomas guy.” She handed him back his phone, which he then shoved into his pant’s pocket.

“Oh _God_ , so you’re the reason we almost toppled over Peggy!?”

“We _did_ topple over her, and yeah, Stevie. Wanted your first haunted house, er, _hayride,_ to be a memorable one,” he winked. “Was it?”

“Yeah. Gonna have nightmares about it for years, thanks a lot, jackass,” Steve was frowning, but as Bucky raked his fingers through his hair, that got him cracking under his facade and he chuckled.

“Okay, who the hell’s Thomas?” Clint gestured at the pair, liquids splashing around in his mug (which made Bucky’s breath hitch because he did _not_ need coffee stains all over his clothes, thank you very much).

Bucky licked across his lips, pulling Steve closer. “Few days ago, we went to this Halloween store, offa Fifth, and when we were there, I sorta told the owner Steve’d never been to a haunted house before. And the guy _sorta_ knew some people that worked there, one of them named Thomas.”

“And, what, you told him to make it extra scary for us?”

Bucky shrugged, taking a long sip of his coffee. “Maybe.”

Clint threw his head back with laughter (and he was laughing so loud Lucky started to get curious and jumped up behind Clint, licking at his neck). “ _Oh man_ , of course you did.”

With a clear of her throat, Natasha spoke up, one hand on Clint’s knee and other behind his back as she looped her finger under Lucky’s collar to coax him to lay down. “I don’t buy it.”

“What?” they all said in unison, much to their own surprise.

“That was weird,” she remarked before pinching the bridge of her nose with her trademark smirk (the one she’d been doing since high school that always got her out of _and_ in trouble), “Some cheesy hayride at a fairgrounds made f _our_ grown men cower behind a poor girl that’s even shorter than Steve?”

“ _Hey_ ,” Steve whined. Bucky leaned his cheek against the side of his head, rubbing his thumb across the back of his palm.

“You don’t get it, Nat. They drop you off in the middle of a field, like the kind you imagine an alien would abduct you from, with no fucking lights, and I guess because of _this_ dick, that’s why we had them chasing after us from every direction.”

“They split you up into groups too so it wasn’t like we had other people with us. Was just us and the actors. And, uh, they knew what Steve looked like and that he was the main target, so…” Bucky shrugged again.

“Hm,” she hummed, pushing herself from the bed as she walked over to the door. “Sorry I couldn’t be there. Maybe next year?”

“ _No_ ,” Steve groaned at the same time Bucky said with a wide grin, “For sure.”

“I’m going to get more coffee, anyone else need a heater?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Steve raised his mug to Natasha’s grabbing hand. Bucky felt a faint buzz against his thigh, and he absentmindedly said as he pulled it out, “Since when did you start drinking so much coffee?”

“Since you started wearing me out.”

He huffed a short laugh from his nostrils as he tapped on the screen. Someone had called, little over five minutes ago, and left a voicemail. It wasn’t a number he recognized, and he wasn’t sure why he didn’t feel his phone ring, but it made him curiously bite his lip. “Hey, I need to go check something, okay? I’ll be back in a sec.”

He could see Steve looking at him from the corner of his eyes. “Okay, Buck. Everything alright?”

Bucky nodded, kissing him before sliding off the bed. “Yeah, just got a call from someone and I don’t know who it is. Wanna make sure it ain’t anything important.”

Steve’s lashes fluttered, and he could tell saying that made him flustered. It’s not like Bucky wasn’t thinking the same thing; he knew it was probably about Sarah. Who else would call him, and leave a message, at ten in the morning on the weekend?

“Hey, Clint?”

“Hm?” Clint scratched the back of his head.

“You mind if I take a shower here? I mean, I can wait until we get home but… it’s honestly been a few days and I kind of really need to.”

“Oh, yeah sure man. Don’t worry about it. Can you use the one up here though? The downstairs ones been leaking and—” he waved his hand, “it’s been a huge mess. Just use the upstairs bathroom is what I’m asking.”

“Why haven’t you called someone if it’s leaking?” Bucky asked, flat.

“Costs money.”

“ _So_?”

“I bet I could fix it myself if I tried,” Clint elaborated.

“And, have you? Tried, I mean.”

“That’s why I said _if_.”

“You give me such a goddamn headache sometimes,” Bucky shook his head, massaging his temples. He looked over his shoulder; they had a small balcony that overlooked their backyard, and he figured he could go out there. Would get him away from everyone for a minute but still be close enough to Steve if he needed him. Speaking of Steve, he was slipping past him, brushing his fingers over Bucky’s with a wiggle of his brows. He couldn’t help it as he watched him walk down the hall, suck in his lips and sigh slowly; still after all these years, he made Bucky feel helplessly in love and drove him crazy.

“Yo, Mr. Lovesick.” Right, Clint was still there. He’d known him long enough to not feel embarrassed around him anymore when he blatantly stared at Steve, or kissed him a little too passionately.

“What?”

Clint lowered his voice, pointing past Bucky. “Is he still out there?”

The door of the bathroom clicked shut, which made Bucky think he wasn’t; he still checked just to make sure though. “No… why?”

“When the hell’re you going to propose to him, man? You’re so in love with him, it’s stupid.”

“Um,” he picked at the side of his neck.

“You’ve had the ring for what, six years?”

Ah, Bucky’s back and forth battle with the decision of proposing to Steve. A story he never liked to think about (and so he doesn’t, except for when stupid Clint sometimes brought it up), never enjoyed talking about (like right now, he wished the floor would fucking swallow him up), and wish he’d never gotten cold feet, because now he’d siked himself out so much that the very idea of ever proposing to Steve made him sick to his stomach. As Clint put it, this was a tale that spanned over six years, and had started a few days after Steve had turned eighteen and a group of them took a belated graduation trip to Hawaii for a week.

Him, Steve, Natasha and Clint, Tony and Pepper, and Scott (who tagged only only because he was Clint’s friend and liked the idea of possible free drinks) spontaneously decided to go somewhere for a much needed vacation. Why they decided on Hawaii instead of a trip to somewhere a lot closer, like the Niagara Falls? They were all excited to be out of that hellhole known as high school, desperate to see their friends again after some of them had already started college, and wanted to live their new adult lives to the fullest. Sure, it was way out of any of their budgets, but it was also fun and new to get away from their parents and relaxing to spend a week away with your partner and best friends. And, a great opportunity to get drunk and be a bum by the poolside. Always a plus.

It was also a great opportunity to propose to your boyfriend, aka the love of your life and guaranteed soulmate since sophomore year. When Bucky was sixteen, he opened a savings account, and he was always going to be in debt to his mom (figuratively, not literally) for urging him to do so, because by the time he was nineteen, he had enough to put a deposit down on an apartment _and_ buy Steve an engagement ring. He didn’t want to be idiotic with his money, but since he wasn’t going to school himself, it gave him a bit more flexibility to spend it on things he probably should’ve thought longer about. Like this trip, and this fucking ring he’s now kept tucked away in a secret hiding spot (empty bottle of bleach under the bathroom cabinet, as of now) for yep, six years.

It wasn’t like when they’d gotten to Hawaii Bucky trashed the whole idea out the window. He _did_ propose. Sort of. Basically. Well, he’d gotten down on a knee rather, but when Natasha walked past them, he acted like he’d dropped something instead and tried to pretend like the whole thing never happened. Steve never brought it up anyways.

He’d called Clint when he was looking for rings, so it wasn’t like it was this big secret either. He still _does_ want to marry Steve someday, but for some reason the whole concept of… not marriage, but guess having to be so open and honest with someone by declaring you love them enough to want to be with them for the rest of your life terrified him. He knew Steve was going to say yes, probably cry a little because that’s what he does, but it made him so goddamn anxious he didn’t know if he could do it anymore. He’d actually thought about just leaving the ring box on his pillow or giving it to Steve with a note and asking _him_ to propose.

“ _Why_ are you bringing this up?” He could feel his forehead creasing, and he nervously glanced back at his phone.

“You know, I’m not sure either. But, now that we’re talking about it, answer me. Dude, I was scared out of my mind when I popped the question to Nat, but everything felt like, a million times better once I did it.”

“Clint, I know it’d be better if I just did it and stopped acting like a massive baby, but I don’t know _how_ anymore. I think about it every goddamn year his birthday comes around, but I—” he shook his head. “I wanted to do it on Halloween. For real this time.”

“And?”

“And _what_?”

“Are you going to?”

“I want to.”

“So, yes?”

Bucky groaned. “I don’t know. Can we change the subject, _please_? I was gonna ask you something too.”

“What’s up, buttercup?”

“You guys wanna come over to our place, bit later? I— still think it’s better if it ain’t just me and Steve. Distraction, you know?”

Clint grinned back at him, shuffling around on the bed (and alerting Lucky that, oh my god activity was going on). He walked over to him, clapping his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Only if you get a drink with me sometime and talk about this.”

“Fine. Deal.”

He patted him on the back. “Good, good. Okay, go do what you were going to do. I’m gonna go downstairs and talk to Nat.”

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks, Barton. Know I give you a lotta shit—”

“But you love me. I know. Love you too, Barnes. Even though you’re a giant asshole.”

“ _Thanks_.”

“Anytime, buddy.”

 

* * *

 

 

 **Stevie** \- 10:59 AM

Thought you were going to join me :-( 

 **Me-** 10:59 AM

lmao I will Stevie 

 **Me-** 11:00 AM

Be there in a second

 

Bucky’s arms were crossed over the metal railing of their balcony. The late-morning sky was painted shades of silver and grey that could be interpreted two different ways; relaxing, like a rainbow after a thunderstorm, or depressing and gloomy because the sun wasn’t out, for the fourth day in a row. His mood was more so matching the latter.

“ _Good morning, Mr. Barnes. This is Dr. McDowell. I believe this is the right number to contact you at? I see here,”_ there was a rustling of papers in the background, “ _they wrote down that you’d prefer to have your number called in regards of an emergency. Well, I’m not saying that there is an emergency at hand, but I’d like to speak to you sometime over the phone. If you’d give me a call back, that would be great. Thank you.”_ Then the automated voice of a machine repeated, “ _If you’d like to repeat this message, press…”_

Bucky lowered his phone. Great. Just fucking fantastic.

He waited as the rings droned on and echoed through his ears, until a voice on the other end said, “Hello?”

“Hey. I just got a message from you. This is Bucky— er, Barnes. About Sarah? Sorry, I didn’t hear my phone go off.”

“Oh, hi!” The man sounded all too cheerful for the news he knew he was coming and he dreaded to hear. “Not a problem. Yes, I was calling to check in with you about Sarah.”

“She doing okay?”

“She’s not doing that great.” Bucky’s eyes flicked up towards the sky. Fucking overcast day with its shitty cold weather. Why’d everything have to suck. “I think it’d be best if you came to see her today.”

“She’s still _alive_ though, right?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he could hear the reassurance in his voice, but it didn’t make him feel any less uneasy. “She’s alive and her vitals were alright today. But she’s seemed a lot more out of it, not like her usual peppy self. She dozed off in the middle of her breakfast this morning and has been forgetting things more often.” Then, he added, “But, she has been telling all of the nurses about what a good time she had yesterday.”

And that brought a smile back to his face. “I’m glad she had fun. It seemed like she really enjoyed herself. Uh,” he grabbed his phone with his other hand, running his palm across his face. “Is it okay if we stop by sometime in the evening, or should we go now? We’re at our friend’s place right now and we were thinking about heading home first cause Steve, her son, just… he’s overwhelmed, you know? There’s been so much happening recently and it’s really taking a toll on him.”

“I understand. No, please, take your time. Like I said, it isn’t an emergency, but I think it’d be better if you came here today. If she does worsen, I’ll make sure to give you a call.”

“Okay. Thank you. Really.”

“Of course. See you soon.”

“Yeah, see you,” Bucky clicked end call with his thumb and hung his head. There was another text from Steve.

 

 **Stevie** \- 11:11 AM

Buuuuuuuuck

 

He wanted to cry. Curl up in a corner and cry. He really didn’t know how Steve was handling this. When his dad passed, sure it absolutely sucked and wasn’t fun for any of them, but he was so young that he didn’t have to go through the whole process of knowing someone was dying, and waiting for it to happen, because he _didn’t_ know it was happening. Wasn’t even the same situation because it was a freak thing; his mom got a phone call and that was it. Suddenly he didn’t have a dad anymore, and he didn’t understand why.

With a sniffle, and pawing at his cheeks, he texted him back before spinning on his heel and sliding the door open.

 

 **Me-** 11:12 AM

I’m coming Steve, oml

 **Stevie** \- 11:12 AM

Thank you :- ) Love you

 **Me** \- 11:12 AM

Love you too

 

As he was heading down the hall to the bathroom, and distracted with his eyes focused down on the phone in his hands, he almost ran headfirst into Natasha. She had a hand on her hip.

“Excuse me.”

“Sorry,” he grunted, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “I was gonna take a shower too. If that’s okay.”

She narrowed her eyes, glaring at him. Deep into his soul. It made him gulp. “Clint’s taking Lucky out on a walk, and he still needs to get dressed. So you have time. Just, _promise_ me, you won’t be too gross in there. We just got done redoing the tiles.”

“Redoing the tiles? Didn’t you redo the dining room last month?”

“Yes.”

“Didn’t you repaint the fence over the summer?”

“Clint likes remodeling and housework.”

“Yet the shower’s busted.”

“That’s Clint for you.”

Bucky looked at her for a minute before stepping to the side and walking past her. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy for you too, Nat.”

“He’s a good guy, you know. Despite his… eccentric attributes,” he looked over his shoulder to see her going into their bedroom, opposite side of the guest bedroom.

“I know he is. I wasn’t being sarcastic.”

“You’re good for him, you know.”

“ _Clint_?” Bucky scrunched his nose.

“No, wiseass. Who do you think I’m talking about?”

“Ah. The other annoying blond.”

“Bingo.”

He knocked on the door, fingers wrapped around the handle. “Thanks Nat. I try,” and then the door was opened inwards, which pulled Bucky inside and made him almost fall over and trip on Steve. He slammed the door close behind Bucky and that’s when his slender arms were being wrapped around his neck and he was pushing himself against him.

“Jesus, Steve,” he kissed him and felt Steve lick at his lips. “You pent up from the other night?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he whined, tugging at the roots of Bucky’s hair.

“Honey, we’re gonna be home soon. Hell, we could head home now and— tell them to meet up with us later.”

“What?” Steve pulled away, looking him straight in the eyes.

“Oh. I asked Clint if they could come over later. Was thinking we could carve pumpkins and put on a few movies… that okay?”

“You don’t want to be alone with me?”

“ _Steve_ ,” his tone fell and then he was cupping his jaw with both hands. “ _sweetheart_ , I love being with you. Alone with you. But I feel like it’s better if we’re not alone right now.”

Steve wiggled away from Bucky’s hold so he could work his lips down Bucky’s neck, teeth ghosting over his adam’s apple. “Why?” He pulled at the hem of his shirt, which he gladly let Steve toss aside.

“Because,” he grunted as Steve unworked the button of his pants, “when it’s just us, I feel like it’s easier for your mind to wander. To those bad places.”

“Why do you say that—” with his hand pressed to Bucky’s hip and fingers teasing the opening to his briefs, he again met his eyes. “Who called you?”

Bucky let out a deep breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in. “Her doctor.”

“I see,” he glanced away. Bucky kissed his cheekbone, kicking his pants the rest of the way off and yanking down his briefs. He pushed on Steve’s shoulder until he was turning around and heading back towards the steaming shower.

“Wasn’t bad or anything. He said we should come see her. Think it’d be better if we headed home and relaxed for a bit first though.” He pulled on the curtains until they closed and turned around to face Steve, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Okay,” Steve leaned forward, resting his head against his chest. The water wasn’t particularly hot, but everything felt warm against his skin right now. Warm and heavy.

“I’m so sorry, Steve,” he breathed against his scalp.

“I don’t want to talk anymore.” Steve cupped his hand over Bucky’s and squeezed until he let go of him, but he didn’t release his hold on Bucky. Instead, he turned around and pulled him closer until his back was flush against Bucky’s chest. “Just fuck me. I don’t want to think, or talk. I just…”

Bucky leaned his head against Steve’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Steve wiggled against him; he was already hard, despite the sad mood he could feel shared between them both. With one hand, he blindly reached for soap to lather his fingers in as his other reached around and gently stroked the underside Steve’s dick.

In the back of his mind, he was thinking again about what Clint had said; “ _When the hell’re you going to propose to him_?” Maybe he shouldn’t wait for Halloween. Fuck, his mom deserves to be alive to see her son as an engaged man.

He trailed his hand down Steve’s spine as he kissed the shell of his ear. What _was_ he waiting for? The perfect opportunity? Because there were hundreds of those. Every morning he woke up with Steve pressed to his side served as a perfect reason to ask him.

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve breathed as his head slowly fell back.

“I love you, Steve.”

“I love you too, Bucky.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I need to pull over,” the screen of Bucky’s phone was flashing with an incoming call. Though they were five minutes away from their complex (Bucky could see the sign of their building), he _knew_ what kind of call this was going to be, and he didn’t want Steve to take it. The doctor said he’d call him if anything changed with her condition. He’d already called him before because she wasn’t doing well.

The next few days were going to be rough.

“Hello?” he clicked at the volume buttons on the side of his phone before putting it back to his ear. Steve, who was sitting shotgun beside him, was intently watching.

“I think it’d be better if you come now.”

Bucky nodded, like he could even see him. He looked over his shoulder and pulled back onto the road. “Okay. We can be there in thirty something minutes.”

“That sounds good. Thank you,” papers were rustling again, “James.”

“Yeah, uh, thank _you._ ”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They arrived at the hospital closer to two; longer than they’d anticipated, but between the franticness of trying to quickly pack an overnight bag just in case they’d have to stay with her, and throw the pumpkins and a few movies into the trunk so they could all do something with her while they were there instead of sitting around all depressed like, things got a little hectic. That, _and_ on the way over, Clint protested about not having any breakfast. Natasha had bought donuts, which became untouched and forgotten as everyone opted to down coffee instead and got distracted by their own activities (Clint with walking the dog, Natasha with calling up Peggy and asking if the haunted hayride thing really was _that_ scary, and Bucky with… fucking Steve against the wall of their newly tiled bathroom. Always great.)

As the elevator dinged to her floor, Steve took off speed walking down to her room, leaving Bucky behind with Clint and Natasha to either of his sides. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, duffel bag with the pumpkins, a movie he’d grabbed at random and a few blankets (and clean pajamas).

“You guys didn’t have to come here, you know,” he looked over to Clint, “you haven’t seen her since she first checked in, have you?”

“Has it really been that long?” Clint’s face scrunched at the question.

“I don’t think I’ve been here either since I stopped by with Tony.”

Bucky groaned. “You know, at your guys's Halloween party, he started _gloating_ to me about how he gave her this huge bouquet. Like it isn’t my boyfriend whose mom is dying, and all he fucking cares about is himself.”

Clint’s arm snaked around his shoulders at the same moment he felt Natasha grabbing for his own hand. “Tony’s an ass, we all know that. Should take what he says with a grain of salt,” Clint muttered as they headed down the hall.

He squeezed Natasha’s hand as they got closer. “God,” Bucky breathed. He could feel his lip quivering. “I don’t know how to deal with this anymore. I’ve been trying to toughen it up so I could be there for Steve, but— Sarah’s been like my mom too, like how my mom is always there for Stevie. She’s always been there for me.”

“You don’t have to act tough, James. Steve understands this isn’t easy for you either,” Natasha was always being his voice of reason.

“I don’t want to be selfish though. It’s-it’s _his_ mom. My mom’s still healthy and fine, and now he ain’t got either of his parents and I should be grateful for everything I have.”

“You can still mourn. You’ve known her your whole life. You just said it; she’s practically been your mom too. She’s been a mom to all of us. Remember when she use to invite us inside for lemonade during the summer?”

“Or,” Clint added, “whenever we’d sleep over at Steve’s place, she’d order us pizza and let us drink _soda_.  _And_ ,” Clint tapped his fingers against Bucky’s collarbone, “carpool us to school every day your mom couldn’t.”

“She’s been there for all of us. We’re all allowed to… to mourn this,” his friends were the only things grounding Bucky. He felt like without them physically holding onto him, he’d float away. The overhead lights were too bright and the beeping of machines were too damn loud, and...

“James,” He could see Natasha looking over at Clint, and that’s when she let go of his hand, nudging the bag from him. “I’ll go in there with Steve. Why don’t you two go to the coffee shop downstairs?”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“She just means so you can take a break from everything. C’mon,” Clint bumped his side.

“But,” he lifted his head up— he’d been focusing on his shoes for far too long —and peered past Natasha. “Steve.”

“What, you don’t trust me to take care of him?”

“N-no, I do,” he quickly pushed out, despite the hoarseness of his voice.

“Okay. So, go downstairs, sit, take some time to yourself and breathe.”

And that’s what they did. They were sitting in the small lobby area that surrounded the popular coffee shop; admittedly, the place _did_ have good coffee. He’d stopped by there a few times before Sarah was ever admitted because it was a hundred times better than any surrounding Starbucks.

Bucky had his elbows pressed to his thighs, fingers snaked through his hair as his head hung and his eyes were tightly squeezed shut. He could feel Clint’s hand on his back; he wasn’t rubbing his back or anything, but instead left it there was a reminder that he was still with him.

“ _Urgh_ ,” he groaned under his breath, digging his nails deeper into his skin. “Why’s it feel like, after all this time, the reality of this situation finally dawned on me?”

“Cause this shit takes time to process, man. Denial, or whatever.”

“I wasn’t in denial though.”

“Maybe _you_ weren’t, but your mind could’ve been because you were putting on a front to take care of Steve.”

“I just— there’ve been so many days where he’s curled up in bed and refused to get up and go to work or move. And I knew, I felt like that too but if both of us were sitting around and doing nothing, our house would be a mess and I’d, well, I’d lose my job. That’d be kinda a _huge fucking deal_.”

“Jay,” Bucky almost winced because no one had called him that since middle school, “does he know this is how you’re feeling?”

“Of course he doesn’t.”

“ _Why_?”

“Because I hate talking about emotions with him.”

“Ah. That’s why you haven’t proposed. You’re scared of your fee-fees.”

“Yeah. Cracked the code, good job Clint. What a genius you are.”

“Dude,” now he was patting him, “I get it. Think every guy alive gets it. It’s hard to open up and talk about your feelings, especially when you feel like everyone’s gonna turn them against you. You remember that chick I was dating years before Nat, Laura?”

Bucky nodded. “Everyone remembers Laura.”

“Listen, I’m not ragging on her because she was a sweet girl, kinda reminded me of Velma from Scooby Doo— but, that’s beside the point. I remember once we were talking and I, don’t know how I ended up on that tangent, but started talking about the wedge that’s still unresolved between me and my brother. And then after talking for like, fifteen minutes, she turned to me and told me to ‘man up’ and either stop ‘bitching about my problems’ or deal with them. Though I don’t blame her because I _was_ definitely bitching about my problems.”

Bucky let out a small laugh at that.

“See, that’s good. Laugh. But, no, seriously. Feelings are uncomfortable and it sucks to talk about them. At least you know Steve’s not going to be dismissive of them.”

“Yeah. He’d just get really worried instead, which I see as being worse. Probably _should_ man up—”

“You said you already did that. That’s why you’re in this situation in the first place, dumbass.” Bucky blinked his eyes open, turning to look at Clint. His shirt was such a vibrant purple it made him dizzy, and, then he realized he had a bruise on his cheek and remembered he had one too from where Steve accidentally kicked him. What a lovely pair they were.

“I’ll talk to him about it later. Not now— he needs to be able to vent his shit. Not me.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Clint groaned before he was tugging on the collar of Bucky’s jacket and tugging him to sit up straight. “Steve this, Steve that. Why’s it only have to be a one way street? Can’t you both talk and cry in each other’s arms?”

“...I guess.”

“No, not you _guess_. It’s ‘you’re so right, Barton. Should’ve listened to you years ago, what a wise mind you have’.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“C’mon. Practice with me. What about Steve made you realize you were in love with him?”

“ _Jesus_. Ain’t this a little,” he loosely gestured, “gay?”

“Aren’t _you_?”

Bucky let his mouth hang open as he licked across his front teeth. Ignoring that remark, he continued, “That’s what drew me in, when we met each other on the playground, that he was so outspoken despite being the smallest kid there; telling off some kid because even though he was six years old, he _had_ to speak his mind. He was giving him shit because he stole a juice box and Steve said that wasn’t fair. He never stopped doing that. You saw that too, sometimes he’d wind himself in detention because he’d start arguing with the teachers over,” he waved, “too much homework or marking kids as tardy when they’d be late themselves everyday. _That_ , that’s what made me _fall_ in love with him. Never let anyone push him around, hell, he’s told me off before too. And I respect that about him.

“And, what made me realize I loved him?” he laughed, “always knew I loved that dumb kid. Knew when we entered high school that little crush I developed was starting to get dangerous… We went to the Met one weekend ‘cause I’d gotten my allowance for that week and wanted to surprise Steve. When we were there, he grabbed my wrist and tugged me around to each exhibit, telling me the history behind the painting, or about the painter. He didn’t know everything in the gallery, just told me about his favorites really, or when he didn’t know something he’d tell me what it made _him_ think about. But, he wasn’t reading those little description cards and I could tell he really knew what he was talkin’ about because, there’s this way he speaks when he’s really confident about something. A lot different than when he normally speaks, like he’s proud of himself.

“And, _that_ . Christ, I can still remember what it felt like. I was watching him as he spoke and, I just felt _happy_ and at peace with him being there. And then I realized I didn’t want to be anywhere he wasn’t. And then that also made me realize I had a bigger situation on my hands, because he was holding my hand and— I thought he’d run off, knowing his best friend was in love with him. Didn’t realize he was in love with me too. Then when we kissed for the first time, god I felt like I was going to have a heart attack. I was so fuckin’ sweaty I didn’t want him touching me, but then I had to keep telling myself, ‘ _It’s just Steve_ ’, but then that got me thinking, ‘ _Holy shit, it’s Steve. You’re kissing_ Steve’.”

Bucky shook his head. “I hate doing this. I hate talking.”

“No you don’t. You never shut up.”

“I hate talking about _myself_.”

“So you really don’t talk like this around him? Ever?”

“No. I mean, occasionally, but it’s never anything elaborate,” Bucky pulled his phone out of his pocket.

 

 **Stevie-** 3:26 PM

Come here, I miss you

 

  
“What’re you smiling about?”

 

 **Me-** 3:26 PM

Heading up rn

 

“Just Steve.”

 

 **Stevie-** 3:27 PM

I love you, Buck

 

“It’s always Steve.”

 

 **Me-** 3:27 PM

I love you too, Stevie

 

“I know.”

 

 **Stevie-** 3:27 PM

<3

 

“The hell would your life be if you’d never met?”

 

 **Me-** 3:28 PM

<3

 

He turned to stare at Clint. “I wouldn’t be alive.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The sun had already set hours ago, but they were still at the hospital, all crammed into Sarah’s room. Steve was sitting on his mom’s bed as she finished her dinner; they’d put on _Halloween Town_ earlier, but now they were watching Aladdin and Bucky _knew_ Steve was biting his tongue. He knew his secret now and it made him question just how many Disney songs he could recite from heart.  
They'd had a pumpkin painting contest, after him and Clint had gone back up. They'd grouped into teams (thankfully they'd bought a few more pumpkins after they'd gone to the pumpkin patch, just because Steve liked having them around the house). Clint and Bucky were one team, while Steve and the nurse were another, and lastly, Natasha paired with his mom.

They were supposed to finish a design by the time the movie was over, but Clint couldn't make up his damn mind, so they rushed something out within the last fifteen minutes that was a mix of colors that ultimately blended into a muddied purple. Steve's turned out... great,  _of course_. The girl he teamed with (wasn't Becca, a different nurse named Rachel)  _also_ had a knack for painting, they found out as she started talking about how she use to want to go to art school before she decided on nursing. Together they'd recreated Jack's lament scene from _Nightmare Before Christmas_.

Natasha and Sarah only painted a face on theirs, but it was better than whatever the hell'd happened to his own. Steve didn't  _want_ to get cocky, but he did drop a few remarks about how Bucky promised him he'd create a masterpiece. He'd taken a photo of it and exclaimed how they should frame it and hang it up in the Met.

When they'd gotten upstairs, Steve pulled him aside and kissed him, drawn out and sweet and made Bucky want to collapse into  _his_ arms. And, for the first time, when he asked Bucky if he was okay, he didn’t avoid the question. He didn’t lie and say he was, or brush it off. He simply said ‘No’. 

Steve had decided that he wanted to stay the night. He didn’t want Bucky to leave either, but Steve told him it’d be better if he went home with Clint and got actual rest. Steve wasn’t sleeping much, but Bucky really wasn’t sleeping at all and it was evident. He looked tired, he was starting to feel tired (down to his bones), and Steve needed him. Really needed him. So, Bucky’d need to store up all of his strength.

It was getting to the time now when Bucky was starting to drift off in his seat, and when he’d opened his eyes, Steve was standing in front of him.

“Honey. Go home and get some rest.”

Bucky leaned his head back, taking both of Steve’s hands into his own, swaying them from side to side. “You’re going to be okay?”

“I’ll take good care of him. Promise,” Natasha said. Bucky let himself gaze back in the direction of Sarah. She looked a lot better than he imagined, but he could see the exhaustion in her eyes. She looked paler than she even did yesterday. That was another thing he worried about, which he told Steve and allowed him to reassure him that that wasn’t the case; that this was all his fault and taking her out was too much for her to handle.

“Let’s get going, buddy.” Clint nudged at him until he was standing up with a groan, walking over to Sarah. She was still mildly awake. He bent down to kiss her forehead and brush her hair back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sarah.”

“Get some rest, James. You need it.” 

“You too. Don’t let Steve keep you up all night. You know how much of a party animal he is.”

“Yep, that’s me. ‘Cept I didn’t go to a single party in high school, _or_ college,” Steve was reaching for his hand, pulling Bucky towards the door. He pulled him into a hug, and Bucky kissed him, noticing just how red Steve’s eyes were.

“Promise me you’ll sleep tonight too.”

“I will.”

“Good. I love you, Stevie. So, so much.”

“I love you too, Buck,” he gave Bucky a weak smile as he ruffled Steve’s hair, turning to Natasha who was leaning against the door frame. He pulled her into a hug also and kissed her cheek.

“I love _you_ too, _Jay_.”

“ _No_ . We are _not_ making that nickname come back.”

“We’ll see,” that damn smirk was back as she turned to Clint, pulling him into a kiss. “Love _you_.”

To which he said, “Love you too. Have fun at your sleepover, kids. We’ll be back to pick you up tomorrow.”

“Bye Stevie.”

“Bye Bucky.”

Clint was pulling him down the hallway. The hospital was quieter at this time of night; most of the visitors had already headed home and the nurses tried to be conscious of those who’ve already gone to sleep. Sometimes the emptiness of the hospital creeped Bucky out though, made him think of Silent Hill.

When they were approaching the car park and Bucky was pulling out his keys, that’s when Clint snatched them from him and shoved him towards the passenger side.

“Excuse me?” Bucky looked at him incredulously.

“I’d rather not die tonight because you zone out and crash into a street sign.”

“...you haven’t gotten any tickets recently, have you?”

“Nope,” he opened the door, sliding in and waiting for Bucky. With a very long and drawn out huff, he practically fell into the seat, and automatically his eyes flickered shut. God, he needed to sleep.

“Did you ever get your car fixed?”

“Yep,” he could hear the engine starting and doors locking.

“You ever get that yogurt out of your jacket?”

“Nope. Jackass.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Wake up, c’mon. You’re too heavy to carry so you gotta stand,” Clint was pulling Bucky to his feet with grit teeth, grunting under his breath, “up. We’re almost there. Gimme your keys.”

“Pocket— left,” Bucky grumbled, stumbling as he slammed the door shut. He held onto Clint’s side as he led him inside and up the stairs, rustling around his pants pocket.

“No, jacket. Not pants.”

Clint puffed out his cheeks, reaching into his jacket and pulling out his keys. “Should’ve said that in the _first place_ but that’s _fine_.” He kicked open the door, flicking on the lights as he shoved Bucky inside, locking it behind them.

“Now go into your room, change your damn clothes and go to sleep. Or, are you hungry? Should I make you food? I’m not a good babysitter, dude. That’s why my brother always babysat the neighbor’s brats while I worked at the dollar store and dealt with shitty teenagers asking me, ‘ _how much is this? Is this really only a dollar_?’”

Bucky looked at him. “I’m too tired to understand what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Are you _h-u-n-g-r-y_?” Clint spelled out, signing the letters.

“ _Y-E-S_ ,” Bucky yelled back, signing along with his single word.

“Okay, so go get changed and then come help me make dinner.”

“ _What_ ?” Bucky almost cackled. “You really _are_ the worst babysitter. You don’t force the kid to make dinner with you.”

“I’m forcing this one.”

“Whatever,” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“You still owe me a drink, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

 

 

 

* * *

 


	11. Cider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things can change just like that, with the blink of an eye or snap of your fingers. That's how quickly it happened — one day Sarah's knitting them scarves as they joke with her about how shitty reality shows are, and now Bucky's filling out forms to get her goddamn death certificate.

 

* * *

 

“Ugh, that was _terrible_. How do you mess up _that bad_ on boxed macaroni?” Bucky lolled his head towards Clint. He was lingering outside of their kitchen space, zipping up his coat (he noted the stain on his sleeve), Bucky’s car keys looped around a finger.

“Maybe it would’ve turned out better if my assistant _helped_ instead of drinking both beers by himself.”

“You said I was supposed to _relax_ and _rest_ ,” Bucky stretched out his arms as wide as he could with an exaggerated sigh, nodding towards Clint. “I’m feeling _very_ relaxed, thank you _so_ much Clint.”

He raised a dark brow at him. “Relaxed enough to sleep yet?”

“Actually,” Bucky gave a half-hearted shrug as he fought back a yawn, “kinda feeling more awake now.”

“Yeah, that’s _not_ good. Steve’s gonna kill me…” he hissed under his breath, peering behind his shoulder towards the front door.

Bucky threw his own head back as his feet hit the edge of their coffee table; he slid down and slouched over himself on the couch. “I miss Steve.”

“How can you _miss_ him? You live with the guy. You see him every day.”

“Yeah,” he clicked his tongue, “but we haven’t had a night apart from each other since… before we moved into this place.”

Clint was rocking on the back of his heels. He was supposed to leave ten minutes ago to go swing by his house and pick up Lucky, but, if you thought Bucky already talked too much normally, you've never seen him after a drink. It was impossible for him to shut up. “You know it’s okay not to be around each other twenty four seven, right?”

“I _know_ ,” Bucky practically whined, which was ironic because he hated whining, but he didn't have enough energy to care. “But I don’t like _not_ being around him twenty four seven.”

“You gotta work on that man. I mean, I get it, I wanna be everywhere Nat is, but she’s a busy woman. It’s unhealthy to be that obsessed with someone.”

“Your fault for thinking I was ever healthy in the first place.”

“Got me there. Hey, can I go now, _please_? I can pick up some Coors—”

“Dude, Guinness only. You’ve known me how long?”

“ _Too_ long. Uh, okay, ew, but fine. If you’re still up when I get back,” he inched closer towards the door, playing with a loose button on his coat as he spoke, “we can have another real talk session. Heart to heart, man to man, ‘kay?”

“Okay, Mr. Therapist Barton,” he wiggled his fingers at him. “Wait wait wait. C’mere first. I need to show you something.”

With a huff, he trudged over to him, footsteps heavy and arms folded across his chest. “What?”

And then with a very ungraceful series of movements, he scurried around to scoop up his fork and fling a noodle shaped like Olaf in Clint’s general direction.

“Jesus, do you want rats? Because that’s how you get rats,” Clint bent over, picking the pasta up from the floor with a napkin (and then Bucky just flung another at him, so that was all pointless). Bucky started chuckling so hard to the point that he surprised himself when he snorted.

“I always wanted a pet rat as a kid.”

“Of _course_ you did,” Clint picked up the remote controller and tossed it to Bucky before making his final escape towards the door, quickly pulling it open before Bucky could lure him back inside. “Watch something, lay down. Don’t do anything stupid until I get back. Or when I get back, for that matter.”

“Sir yes sir,” Bucky saluted him. And then like that, he was gone and that left Bucky feeling ten times more agitated and restless. He was completely alone, with nothing more than the slight draft from their bedroom window and sounds of their next door neighbors watching a movie on full blast to keep him company. His fingers started to twitch and he got a familiar itch, deep under his skin, building up and making him sigh.

He clapped his hands together, pressing elbows to knees and leaned over himself. He didn't always get the craving to smoke, but when he did, it felt like an urge as natural as breathing; meaning, it was too hard to resist, and, fuck it, he was done trying to ignore it tonight. He _needed_ something to distract him, something that would soothe him.

The feeling of smoke filling his lungs, tickling his throat on the way down and polluting his body gave him a sick sense of calmness, which is exactly why he stopped: he was becoming too dependent, Steve was worried about his chain-smoking habits, and all your clothes smelling like smoke _all_ the time wasn't great either. You'd think the one who _was_ smoking would be immune to that smell, but he wasn't. Irritated him sometimes and made him sneeze.

With a jump to his step, he made his way to the bathroom, his hiding spot, apparently, for all his secret shit. He removed the cover to the toilet tank and pulled out a carton of unopened cigarettes he'd stashed there months ago. Though he was dedicated to putting an end to this nasty habit, like any addict, he kept around his favorite things just on the off chance he’d cave.

He felt around under the sink and found the lighter he'd taped to the cabinets ceiling. He released it from it's duct tape cobweb. That damn bleach bottle was glaring back at him (okay, maybe it really was time for sleep), fucking taunting him because he knew what was really inside.

He unscrewed the top before shaking the ring free, letting it fall into his palm. If they ever needed money quick, he knew this little guy could help them out; when Bucky'd bought it, he didn't want to get something overly flashy. No bright golds or large gemstones. He wanted something sleek and to the point.

And apparently clean and simple meant thousands of dollars, but Bucky went for it. He clenched his jaw the whole time as they swiped his card, _but whatever would make spending one and a half thousand dollars easier, right._

Its middle row of black crushed diamonds glistened as it caught the light. Its body was a rich silver. He carefully dropped it into his jacket pocket, zipping it up before he made his way to grab a thicker coat (he was always a fan of layers) and head upstairs towards the roof. He wedged the door open with his shoe (took off the other one too so he'd match. Whatever, his feet had been cold before, what's new).

Cigarette placed between his lips, he lit the tip with a long inhale and slowly sighed through his nostrils. It was dangerous to tease himself like this, he knew, but he just didn't care. If this is what helped him deal with the piles of anxiety he was supposed to face head on, then so be it.

He rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye before pulling out his phone. He watched the flicker of his reflection illuminated in the dark glass, and there was a tinge of regret, but it's not like he could take back what he did anyways. He just had to make sure he didn’t turn this into a habit again.

He turned on his screen, and after tapping his thumb against the side for at least a minute, he clicked on his conversation with Steve. He wasn’t sure if he was still awake, and he might not be too pleased with the fact that _he_ was still awake, but he was full of risks tonight.

Taking another drag, he sent him a message.

 

 **Me-** 10:13 PM

Hey Stevie. You still awake?

Shivering as he exhaled, he couldn't hold back a smile as his screen lit up.

 **Stevie-** 10:13 PM

Why’re /you/ awake :-(

He looked up at the sky. Bucky'd always loved space, since he was a kid. Had a huge fascination with it and went through a ‘I want to be an astronaut when I grow up!’ phase like most kids do. His mom helped him make a spaceship out of cardboard that him and Steve would play in; he always made Steve the captain while he'd be the scientist, trying to discover new life.

One thing he never liked about the city was how polluted the sky got. Couldn't ever take in the beauty of the stars because they were masqueraded by skylights.

Him and Steve had taken a trip up to Southold once; it was Bucky's turn to plan a date (they rotated on who was responsible for picking where they went and went out every weekend) and so he decided to take him to a dark sky park. Where they could see the natural beauty of their universe and lay on top of the hood of his car, hand in hand, watching as comets passed by.

It was easier to see the stars in Indiana. He'd gone camping a few times as a kid, but Indiana never felt like home to him. _This_ , Brooklyn, wherever Steve was, was his home.

 **Me-** 10:17 PM

Not tired anymore. Clint ran over to get Lucky since he’s gonna crash here tonight

 **Me-** 10:17 PM

You doing okay?

 **Stevie-** 10:18 PM

I’m fine, Buck

 **Stevie-** 10:18 PM

I miss you though

 **Me-** 10:18 PM

I miss you too

 **Me-** 10:19 PM

I could’ve stayed, you know

He took another long drag, humming to himself as he moved around. The wind had a harsh bite to it, but it honestly wasn't that horrible of a night. Weather wise, at least.

 **Stevie-** 10:19 PM

I knoooow, but I wanted you to get rest

 **Stevie-** 10:19 PM

You’re not gonna stay up all night again, are you?

He exhaled.

 **Me-** 10:20 PM

No, I’ll crash when Clint gets back 

 **Me-** 10:20 PM

I’ll make sure he sleeps too lol

 **Stevie-** 10:20 PM

Ok good

 **Stevie-** 10:21 PM

What’re you doing

 **Me-** 10:21 PM

Nothing, just waiting for him to get back

 **Stevie-** 10:21 PM

Can I call you

 

He rolled his eyes. Still, after all these years, Steve occasionally acted shy around him.

 **Me-** 10:21 PM

Steve. 

 **Me-** 10:22 PM

You don’t have to ask

Before he knew it, Steve's face was filling up his screen and that brought back a very familiar smile to his lips. He took another quick inhale before tossing the cig down and crushing it with the heel of his foot (carefully. Also gross.)

“Hey Stevie.”

“Hi,” he sounded tired, but he could hear the eagerness in his voice he always got when he talked to Bucky.

“What’s up? Natasha not entertaining enough?”

There was a light chuckle and then he could hear his breath closer and the sound of people walking by. “She’s actually talking to my mom. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Honey,” he smoothed back his hair, “if you want me to come over there, I can. Clint took the car but I can tell him to meet me there.”

“No, it’s fine. Are you outside?”

“Oh,” Bucky sucked in his lips. “Yeah, ‘m on the roof. Needed some fresh air.”

Steve sighed. “Are you smoking?”

These were the times that knowing each other like the back of their hands became a disadvantage. Not that he wanted to _lie_ to him (he knew he’d eventually have to come clean about the cigs and lighter he’d been hiding), but he didn’t want him worrying, again.

“It was just one, Steve.”

“ _James_ ,” and that made him close his eyes, shoving a hand into his pocket.

“I’m sorry,” he said quiet.

“You were doing so well though.”

“I know. I just needed the distraction.”

“How _are_ you? You… you said you weren’t doing that good earlier. Are you still feeling like that?”

He sucked in his cheeks. So much for opening up and not bottling his emotions. “I’m fine, Steve.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine,” it almost sounded like he huffed, but then there was a snort, “wanna hear something funny?”

“Always,” Bucky started to head back towards the door, grabbing his shoes as he crept down the stairs and nudged open their door, tossing his coat aside before plopping on the couch with a cough.

“So, earlier Nat took me down to the cafeteria to get food, and when we came back up, that, uh, Doctor Dolittle—”

“Doctor _McDowell_ ,” Bucky corrected with a laugh that cracked his voice, “Dolittle was the guy that had all the animals. Not to mention a _fictional_ _character_.”

“Okay, _whatever_ . Dolittle, McDowell, same difference. _Anyways_ , he was in my mom’s room and then this other guy who I’ve never seen before in my life walks in and starts acting like he’s fuckin’ House or something.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky leaned back, palming against his thigh.

“You know how House is an arrogant asshole that… that kinda acts like Tony a bit, actually.”

“Oh my _God_ , that’s what he should be for Halloween. _Steve_ ,” and that got him sitting up again, gesturing with a hand that Steve couldn't see, “we need to tell him.”

Steve started cracking up, Bucky following suit, hunched over. “He could actually look like him, huh?”

“He could, yeah,” Bucky nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Sorry, I cut you off. Continue.”

“It’s okay. Uh, so this guy comes in ‘cause he said he’s supervising the doc? Something like that, and then he’s introducing himself to everyone all,” Steve lowered his voice, which got Bucky to (literally) bite his tongue because it just made him sound like he had a massive cold, “‘I’m one of the top rated neurosurgeons in this country. You should feel honored to have met me’ with this cheesy British accent that didn’t even sound real. Like, who fakes a British accent?”

“Sounds like you’ve had quite a night.”

“That’s not even the best part though.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. You’ll never guess what his name is. It’s Strange.”

“Wow, Steve” he said dull, “That’s harsh. Judging a guy by his name.”

“No, Buck, I mean that’s his _name_. Dr. Stephen Strange.”

“...his last name is Strange. And he has a fake British accent,” he echoed.

“Yes!” Steve squeaked.

“Honey. Nat didn’t slip anything in your water, did she? Like some of your mom's painkillers…”

“Bucky, I’m being serious!”

“Okay, alright, simmer down. I believe you, bud,” he laughed. “How _is_ your mom?”

“She’s,” his voice grew distant and it made Bucky shift a little, “she’s hanging in there. She’s gotten worse since you left. She threw up because they adjusted her IV and when a nurse helped her shower, she said she almost passed out.”

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Anything changes and you need me to be there, please don’t not call me ‘cause you think I’m asleep, okay?”

“Okay Bucky.”

Bucky could feel a soft buzz against his fingertips. He pulled away the phone to see an unread message.

 

 **Clint-** 10:39 PM

I’m at the store, do u need anything else 

 **Me-** 10:40 PM

Slice of chocolate cake?

 **Clint-** 10:40 PM

Wtf

“Buck?”

 **Clint-** 10:40 PM

Ok w/e, I’ll be there 10-15 min

“Sorry, hold on Stevie.”

“Okay.”

 **Me-** 10:41 PM

Thanks

“Clint said he was at the store,” Bucky exhaled softly through his nostrils. “Hey, uhm, this is extremely off topic, but…” he bit his lower lip as he felt that smile returning, the one he'd only get when he talked to Steve. “You remember our first date?”

Steve chuckled. “Won’t ever forget it. It was a _disaster_ , Buck.”

“Yeah, I know. Surprised you didn’t bail after that.”

“Think I was already too invested to go anywhere. Why the sudden trip down memory lane?”

“Was talking about you to Clint earlier.”

“Good things?”

“Always the good stuff,” he pulled out the cigarette carton, fiddling with one between his fingers. “I was talking about when we went to the Met together, few weeks after you started your freshman year. Remember that?”

“Of course. That was technically our _first_ date. Unofficially.”

“You’re right. It was,” he nodded, “was also the day I realized I was totally in love with you.”

There wasn't a response at first, but then Bucky heard a soft inhale and it got him to close his eyes, content. “Sap.”

“You tellin’ me you didn’t feel that too?”

“I already knew before that.”

“Yeah? You gonna elaborate on that?”

Steve scoffed. “It was over the summer, when you went to Indiana for a month. We both had phones but your reception was actual ass and anytime we tried to Skype, your video looked like it was recorded on a potato. So we wrote letters instead. I sent you that drawing of the Brooklyn skyline and you sent me a package with a postcard that smelled like your damn cologne, don’t think I didn’t notice that, and some of your favorite candies. I still have that postcard, you know.”

Bucky ducked his head. “Might’ve sprayed a bit on it… and the package as a whole.”

“Yeah, I know. My room reeked of you for weeks after that.”

“You still have it though, huh?”

“Mhm,” Steve hummed, “taped to the inside of my sketchbook. I move it every time I fill up one so I don’t ever lose it.”

“And you’re calling _me_ the sap.”

“To be fair, we _both_ are.”

“I’ll agree with you there.”

“God, I was so scared you’d never like me that way.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, you’re still totally out of my league. I don’t know how I wound up with you, but I’m glad I did.”

“I’m glad I have you too, Stevie.”

There was a silence that grew between them, wasn't nerve-wracking or uncomfortable though. It's just what it was, silence because no one knew what to say. Bucky unzipped his pocket, fiddling with the ring before he pinched it and held it under the light.

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

He fiddled with it more. Was he really going to do this? “Can I ask you something?”

“Always, Buck.” Guess so. It was now or never.

 **Clint-** 11:53 PM

Hey jackass, can u come help 

 **Clint-** 11:53 PM

Lucky’s barking his head off

 

Bucky cursed under his breath, shoving the ring back into his pocket before tugging on his hair. God fucking dammit, why couldn't he ever catch a _break_.

“I’m gonna need a rain check, Stevie. Clint’s here and,” he held the phone up to the window, “you hear that?”

“I do hear that, yes.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll text you again before I go to bed. Or, you can text me whenever,” he fumbled over his words, scratching his head, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Have a good night, Buck. I love you.”

“I love you too, Steve. Say night to Sarah for me.”

He softly chuckled. “Will do.”

“Bye.”

“Bye James.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose at the same moment their front door flew open, Lucky’s leash dragging behind him as he dashed over to Bucky and attacked him (with love).

“Thanks for the help. Really appreciate it.”

“I was on the _phone_.”

“Couldn’t stop talking to your little boy toy for two seconds?”

“I was going to ask him to marry me.”

That stopped Clint dead in his tracks. He turned to lock eyes with him; he craned his neck to look at him over Lucky, who was still flailing about. “Over the _phone_ …?”

“I mean, I’m too much of a damn coward to do it in person, as we both know. So, why not. Didn’t work though because your fucking dog,” he tugged on his collar. His whole face was now soaking wet, “barged in here and ruined everything.”

“Dude, don’t blame all your problems on the dog.”

“I’m _not_. I’m telling the truth.”

“Unlikely.”

 

* * *

 

 

Instead of just getting him a single slice of cake, like what he originally asked for, Clint upped the ante and got him an _entire_ cake. Complete with a frosted 'Happy Birthday’ and candles that said he was a hundred and one years old. Real clever, Clint.

Cutting himself a slice (and his guest, he wasn't going to be greedy), he loudly yelled, and in his ear, “ _Happy birthday!_ ” to which Bucky duly replied, “ _Thanks_.”

They'd managed to really do a number on that cake, more than half of it gone, and only two beers left. For some reason Bucky'd thrown on _Jaws_ _3_. Clint was forcing him to pick something, and hey, he gets nervous under pressure. He panicked and blindly grabbed a DVD before he realized what it was.

It felt nice though. To have a boy's night. Him and a friend. Course his inner thoughts were focused on Steve the whole time, but still, it was nice.

“God, I hate this fucking movie,” Clint gestured towards the tv, “they should’ve stopped after the first one. How many _Jaws_ are there again?”

“Four,” Bucky took a sip of his beer, “But then you got all those copycat movies too, like _Great White_ or _Bait_ or,” he looked at Clint, “I ‘unno, _Sharknado_.”

“What the fuck, _Sharknado_ has nothing in common with _Jaws._ ”

“Has shark in the name though. Who do you thinks responsible for starting the trend of killer sea creature movies?” he waved at the screen with his bottle.

“You know, people were getting attacked by sharks _way_ before Steven Spielberg was even a thought in his mama’s head.”

Bucky snorted. “Speaking of Spielberg… you ever wish dinosaurs were still alive?”

This is what he also loved about Clint. They'd bicker, a lot, but their banter was refreshing, especially how they could keep up with each other. Their conversations shifted naturally, no matter how much of a stretch the topic changes were.

“Hell no.”

“Pansy,” he went to take another sip but then Clint smacked his bicep.

“Like you’d want a t-rex roaming around Central Station.”

“Didn’t they do that in a movie before?”

“Probably. I’m talking about real life though, Ja—” Bucky raised his brows at him. “Bucky. Let’s just call you that. What the hell’s a ‘Bucky’ even?”

“ _Me_.”

“Sounds like a redneck nam—” Bucky smacked Clint’s drink from his hand and, thankfully there were only a few drops left in the bottle, because otherwise that would’ve stained their (already ruined) rug. He stared at him, forehead creased. “My brother use to go to anger management. Want the number to his old group?”

“I’ll pass on that.”

Clint shook his head, picking up the bottle and going to the kitchen to get another. He returned to fall back on the couch. “Asshole.”

“Hey,” he nudged Clint in the side.

“What?”

“I was just thinking, what _is_ the story between you and Nat? It always seemed like you two never really talked and then the next day, you couldn’t keep your hands off each other.”

“That’s basically what happened.”

“Really?”

Clint nodded, scratching his chin. “You know I use to be into sketchy stuff when we were younger; blazing it up every weekend, getting shitfaced at college parties when I was sixteen. Because of all of that, I met Nat through this guy we both knew. His name was Nick and man, you thought the other night was scary. Guy could make you piss yourself just by looking at you,” he turned to Bucky, “he only had one eye.”

“What’s with you and hanging out with those who only have one eye?” Lucky peeked up at them from the floor.

“I ‘unno. You wanna be a part of the collection?” Clint picked up a chopstick that was sitting on the table and jabbed it in Bucky’s direction. “Why do you have this?”

Bucky raised his hands up in defeat. “Easy to turn fabric inside out with.”

“Huh?” he set it down.

“Sewing stuff, Clint. From when we made the Star Wars costumes.”

“Ohhhh,” he nodded, taking a sip. “I see. Hey, you know what you’re gonna be for Halloween?”

“Wait, don’t change the subject yet,” Bucky chuckled, “you didn’t finish saying how you and Nat became an item.”

“Right, right. You know I do that. I’m the king at derailing conversations.”

“I know. You’re _still_ doing it.”

“Okay, well, we both knew this Nick guy cause… I was doing my bad business, she was doing hers. For the first three years of school, she never even looked at me, probably because I hung out with you guys and you’re a couple of losers.”

“Come on,” Bucky protested.

“But, I ‘unno,” he took another sip, “we both had shitty home lives and Laura wanted to get too serious too fast. Nat, she was so laid back and relaxed and _fun_. She liked going for rides on the ol’ Harley at midnight— bless its heart, that thing has been beyond repair for years. We’d break into the Y after hours and go skinny dipping then get Chinese food and talk. Once we started talking, we just clicked.”

Bucky shook his shoulder. “I’m glad you two found each other. And that you ain’t doing that shady shit anymore. I never wanted to ask, because it wasn’t any of my business, but Steve was always worried about you when you’d come to school with a goddamn hangover.”

“Hey man, as the kids say, you only live once. Better to party hard when you’re younger and get it out of your system.”

“I wouldn’t know. Neither of us were invited to any parties.”

Clint coughed. “Again, because you’re losers.”

“And you’re sitting on said losers couch, so you best shut up.”

He laughed. “How’d you ask Steve out? Also seemed like that for you guys. I mean, you were always making goo goo eyes at each other, but it felt like one day you were exclaiming how you were just _best friends_ then the next day, you were sucking face.”

“Jesus, can you be any grosser?”

“Don’t try me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Believe it or not, I texted him.”

“Oh, I definitely believe that. Makes sense. Ask a guy out via text, propose to him over the phone…”

“ _Hey_. It was different circumstances the first time.”

“Okay, and those were?”

Bucky felt his phone buzz. He pulled it from his pocket.

 

 **Stevie-** 1:02 AM

Idk if you’re still awake but you never said goodnight so 

 **Stevie-** 1:02 AM

I’m gonna try to get some sleep

“You’re so sick.”

“Whatever. I’d let Steve play doctor on me.”

 **Me-** 1:03 AM

Still up, watching Jaws 3 and talking to Clint 

 **Me-** 1:03 AM

Hope you get some rest, Stevie. I’ll talk to you in the morning

“Yikes.”

 **Stevie-** 1:04 AM

Ew, Jaws 3? Lol 

 **Me-** 1:04 AM

Yeah yeah, don’t judge

“Don’t kinkshame me, Barton.”

“I’m not.”

 **Stevie-** 1:05 AM

hehe 

 **Stevie-** 1:05 AM

I love you. Get some sleep too.

 **Me-** 1:05 AM

I love you too. I will

 **Stevie-** 1:06 AM

Goodnight Buck

 **Me-** 1:06 AM

Goodnight Stevie

 **Stevie-** 1:06 AM

<3

 **Me-** 1:07 AM

<3

 

He shoved his phone back into his pocket, adjusting his position.

 _"So,_ what was that?”

“Said goodnight to Steve.”

“I see. Now back to the story. You asked him out through text, huh?”

Bucky threw his head back. “Listen. You wanna know what actually happened, or do you want to keep teasing me?”

“Both.”

Bucky rubbed his temples. “We were over at his house trying to cram for a test the next day that neither of us prepared for at all and, you know how boring studying is. We put on some music at first and a few movies but we still kept getting so distracted and Stevie kept passing out on his textbook. So to make things a little less boring, he asked me if I was seeing anyone. I said no and asked him the same thing, he said no, you get the point.

“Then he looks at me and he says, ‘you crushing on anyone?’ and, fuck, I didn’t know what to say to that. I didn’t want to just outright blurt that it was him, so I said yeah. He asked if he knew the person and I was trying to play coy, so I said he went to our school. He kept poking and prodding, probably trying to see if it _was_ him before he got the wise idea of telling me to ask him out.

“And I was like, ‘the hell you mean ask him out? Ain’t we supposed to be studying’, but he pointed to my phone and told me to text him. So I didn’t have a choice, you know. When his phone buzzed though, he thought it was a joke at first. He actually laughed, but then his face fell and he just said, ‘You’re serious?’. And, uh, that’s how it happened.”

“Look at you,” Clint pat his knee, “You’re getting better at this already.”

“Give me a coupla beers and I become so chatty you’ll want to rip your ears off. Kinda like putting a dime in a jukebox.”

“That’s the trick, huh?”

“Yep.”

“That’s good to know,” he playfully poked at his hearing aid, which got Bucky puckering his lips at him. “Wait, Halloween. What're you gonna be?”

“Uh,” he shrugged, “probably just wear the Han Solo thing again if we go out. We might just stay home and watch movies or hang out with his mom, something easy. What're you wearing?”

Clint sniffled. “Sorta have plans to go trick or treating with Tony. Which means we're gonna be cosplaying our annoying teenage selves.”

“Trick or treating,” Bucky flicked his tongue against his teeth. “You're twenty five.”

“So? How is it at all fair only the kids get the candy? That's like… prejudice against adults.”

“Or you can go and buy your own candy, cause you’re an _adult_ ,” Bucky reasoned with him.

“That's _boring_ ,” and then he was scooting closer and Bucky was holding in his breath. “You know… Steve could pass for sixteen or seventeen.”

Bucky let out the longest sigh of his life. “ _No_. _Fuck_ _you_ , I _hate_ where this is going.”

“He could be our baby brother, wanting to trick or treat one last time before he's off to college.”

“Steve already _graduated_ college.”

“Well, don't tell them that. It'll ruin the plan.”

“There's _no_ plan. Forget about it.”

“You'll cave. You'll see,” Clint poked the side of his neck, Bucky slapping his hand away.

“Also, just an idea,” he nodded at him, “you should totally get Tony to dress as House.”

“House, like, the TV doctor?”

“Right on the mark.”

Clint chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Alright, new topic, _please._ You guys ever do anything for Thanksgiving? I’m thinking about bringing Steve back home,” he stretched forward and set his empty bottle down, “‘m family rents out this big cabin in southern Indiana every year, s’always loud and chaotic and Steve hates it.”

“Why do you want to bring him then if he hates it?”

“Cause if we don’t go then we’re gonna be sitting around doing nothing, probably get take out and pass out before eight.”

“Sounds fun.”

“It’s _not_. That’s what we did last year.”

Clint shook his head. “Our Thanksgivings aren’t too chaotic, but, I might actually see Barney this year. He said he was thinking about crashing for a week at our place with Kate.”

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

Clint scowled. “I don’t know. Three, four Christmases ago? I thought it was fucking weird too, he calls me up out of the blue and asks if he can stay with us, even though he talks to me maybe five times a year. I do wanna see Kate though.”

“You don’t keep in touch with her either?”

Clint shrugged. “Not as much anymore. _She’s_ still in college, has her own group of friends. Been seeing this guy since last spring, named uh,” he snapped his fingers, “Noh Varr.”

“Excuse me, _what_?”

“I know. That’s what I said. Sounds like something from a goddamn alien language. But, she said his parents are pretentious and wanted him to have a _unique_ name. Think that’s why he also dyes his hair silver.”

“That why you bleach your hair platinum blond?”

“You know it. I’m one of a kind, baby. No other Clint out there that’s like me, ‘cept me.”

Bucky reached out to smush his hand against Clint’s cheek, but between a mixture of too many drinks and sleep deprivation, he ended up smashing his head into his shoulder instead and huffed in defeat as he leaned on him.

“You think this is ever gonna happen to Steve?” Ah, there it was. His worries were verbally escaping.

“What, go through a phase of dyeing his hair? Honey, we’ve all gone through that.”

“Jesus, _no_ , I don’t mean that. And don't _ever_ call me honey again. I meant like his mom,” he pinched his arm, “And I never dyed my hair, so, your argument is invalid.”

“Dude. You dyed your hair jet black for four years. Don’t think no one noticed.”

“...and we’ll never speak of that again.”

Clint laughed. “Why’re you saying that though?”

“I don’t know, man. It’s probably just my anxieties but, he has a lot of the same shit she does. It’s genetic.”

“Oh, shit, he does?”

Bucky sat up to look at him. “You didn’t know that?”

“No.”

“Steve’s got like,” he counted on his fingers, “seven different health conditions.”

“Jesus. I knew about the asthma and spine stuff, but… You’re not shitting me?”

“Why the fuck would I joke about this?”

“You wouldn’t. I’ve never heard him talk about that though.”

“Because he doesn’t. Clint, that’s why he had to retake PE with us. He sat out almost every day his first year and the teacher was too much of a dick to get why. He finally got diagnosed with UTCD when he was sixteen.”

“What’s uh… no clue what that is, buddy.”

“Autoimmune related,” he trailed to the kitchen to grab the last beer and pull off the cap, swishing the bottle around, “means it ain’t as severe as what his mom has, for now at least, but his body ain’t kind to him. That’s why he gets tired so easily, or, you know, sick all the time, even if he’s being careful.”

“I really didn’t know that.”

Bucky nodded, leaning against the counter top. “Can you understand now why I don’t want to burden him with my shit? He has so much he has to deal with, he doesn’t need to be acting as a therapist to my problems too.”

“That’s part of what being in a relationship is about though, James. I’m sure he _does_ want to be there for you but you’re always shutting him out.”

Bucky hung his head, walking back over (and quickly regretting it). “...I smoked when you were gone. I’ve been hiding a pack and a lighter for a couple of months now,” he looked at the lone cigarette he’d left on the table earlier.

Clint smacked his back, which got Bucky flinching away from him. “Christ, what the fuck!?”

“You really think it’s okay to lie to him?”

“Look,” he set his drink down, rubbing his palms together. “No. I don’t. I feel like actual garbage for doing that— and I already told him I smoked. I didn’t hide it.”

“You _did_ hide shit though. You’ve been hiding that damn engagement ring. You hide your feelings.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky grit his teeth, “are you my life coach now, or what’s happening?”

“I’m just saying, if you want this relationship to stay healthy and last, you need to be _honest_ with him. If you buy a pack of cigarettes, who cares. You need to tell him though.”

“Like you don’t hide shit from Nat.”

“I don’t.”

“She know you made out with Scott when we were in Hawaii because you were so drunk you couldn’t even see straight and thought his room was yours and Nat’s?”

“Yep. Was embarrassing, but I told her.”

“But, does she know you scream like a fuckin’ six year old girl?”

“...Okay, you’re _not_ allowed to tell her that one.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Such double standards.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky stroked his hand down his face, only to soon discover that that hand wasn’t his, but instead Clint’s who had his arms tangled around him. After hours and hours of chatting ruthlessly as Lucky tried to tune them out and sleep on the floor, they’d finally managed to pass out themselves. On the couch. Sitting up, uncomfortably. And Bucky was _still_ in the same pair of clothes he’d been wearing for the past three days now.

He nudged Clint away, wiggling out from under him as he reached for his phone; the screen was lit up, Steve’s face displayed across it, and once he checked the time (it was around five, but the numbers were so small they all blurred together), he bit his lip so hard it bled.

“Honey,” Bucky yawned, pressing the phone to his ear as he walked into their bedroom. “What’s wrong? Why’re you calling so early?”

“I— you need—” Steve was out of breath, and not the same out of breath he got from walking too fast, but the kind he’d get when he was worked up. And that’s when Bucky physically smacked himself; Steve’s inhaler was in _his_ pocket, he could feel it. It comforted him though knowing he was at a hospital. If he did get an asthma attack, they’d be able to help him at least.

“Steve, slow down. You gotta breathe or you’re gonna hyperventilate.”

Steve took one sharp and shaky inhale before he was back to stammering. “I need you to come here— Bucky, please— god I _need_ you.”

“ _Steve_ , keep taking those deep breaths, sweetheart. You need me to do them with you?”

He could hear him whimpering, so Bucky inhaled, deep from the pit of his stomach and held it in, listened until he could hear Steve doing the same. Then he let go, in a long and steady puff.

“Good, that’s real good,” he scratched at the back of his neck. “I can head out in,” he looked over his shoulder and walked back into the living room, kicking Clint’s ankles, “like five or six minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” he choked.

“You want me to keep talking to you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay Stevie. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Then he sniffled. “She’s gone.”

And Bucky froze. Clint was blinking his eyes open, gesturing to Bucky with a scrunch of his nose, but all he could do was look back at him with a stiffened expression and widened eyes.

“We’re leaving. Right now,” Bucky said as Clint mouthed ‘what’s happening’ to him. He pointed over his shoulder towards Lucky, whispering back, “ _Go make sure he has food and water. And put down a newspaper too, just in case_.”

Clint nodded, walking past him and towards the kitchen.

“You still with me, honey?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’s Nat? She with you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good. Uh, do you want to be touched right now? Er, I mean, is it okay if I hold you when we get there?”

“Yes. _Please_.”

“Okay sweetheart.”

“Bucky,” he craned his neck, looking at Clint. “Can I piss or do I need to go start the car?”

Bucky wanted to laugh at that. Wanted to roll his eyes or, something. Give any reaction other than staring at him with his mouth wide open. But he couldn’t. “Give me the keys. I’ll go get it started, just make sure Lucky’s okay and uh, meet me down there. Grab the bear that’s on the bed too,” he waved towards their bedroom. “I can bring you back here in a few hours so you can check on him.”

“Or, I can drive myself.”

“You’re gonna drive off with _my_ car?”

“You don’t trust me?”

“ _James_ ,” Steve cried from the other line, and Bucky could hear that he was sobbing. Fuck if it didn’t make his chest burn and crush his heart.

“Oh, Stevie,” he took a deep inhale, grabbing his charger quickly before opening their door and practically sprinting down the stairs, out to his car. He slumped in the seat, starting the engine. “I got the car ready. We’re about to leave.”

“Hurry.”

“I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

From the corner of his eyes, he could see Clint walking out of the lobby.

“Did you lock the door?”

“Do you think I’m stupid or something?”

“Or something,” then he lowered the phone, “Clint,” he couldn’t get out the words without his voice cracking, and that’s when he felt the tears building in his eyes. “Sarah died.”

He looked back at him with the same expression; speechless.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Steve,” Bucky breathed against the side of his head, one hand cupped over his ear and other holding him up. Both of Steve’s arms were twisted around his neck, legs wrapped around his hips like Bucky was his anchor. He rocked them back and forth.

“Why the fuck was it her,” he cried into his skin, “why not me.”

“Don’t say that,” he hushed. “I don’t know why Steve. But _you,_ you need to stay here.”

“Ain’t fair.”

“I know it’s not, honey.”

“She was fine yesterday.”

He brushed his fingers down the nape of his neck as he kissed his cheek. He licked his lips and all he could taste was copper and salt. “Let’s go sit down. You want to be inside or outside?”

“Car.”

“Okay,” he nodded, turning to look at Natasha and Clint. “We’re gonna go to the car for a bit. If— if they need us, just text me.”

“Take your time,” Natasha said. She was holding onto Clint’s hand.

Once they were situated in the backseat of their car, with the radio a soft lullaby in the background and heat cranked on, Steve let himself cry. Like, really cry. He was laying on top of Bucky, tucked under his chin and death grip on his hand. Bucky was rubbing up and down his back, kissing against the side of his head, anywhere he could reach.

He felt again reactionless to the situation, like he was too pumped up on adrenaline from being in flight or fight mode to feel. Internally, his mind was screaming, telling him to call his own mother and tell her how much he loved her.

But instead, he kept rubbing Steve, reaching for the bear that'd fallen under the driver's seat. He swooped it up, pressing it gently against Steve's cheek with a faux kissing nose. That got him to sniffle and laugh at least, albeit sad and it made Bucky's throat tighten even further.

“Brought this for you,” he laid it beside them.

“I-it’s,” he breathed, “okay, got my own— life-sized Bucky bear.”

“Jesus, Steve, you calling me a bear? I ain't _that_ hairy.”

He shook his head, wet nose rubbing against his neck. “Teddy bear.”

“Ah. That's better,” he squeezed him.

“Buck,” Steve said soft and quiet and broken.

“Hm?”

“Can we go home after this? Please. No one else. Just us.”

“Yes, Stevie.”

“I love you, James.”

“I love you too, Steve.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It took hours before they were finally back home and kicking off their shoes. Bucky'd already bundled Steve back in his arms and hauled him towards their bed, setting him down and crawling under the covers with him, pulling him as close as he possibly could. He felt warm, worryingly warm, and that made _him_ worry that the stress of this all was going to make Steve sick. He was already dreading having to call his boss tomorrow and ask for more time off.

All they wanted to do now was sleep. The amount of paperwork they had to fill out was… emotionally taxing to say the least. A doctor didn't come in to talk to them until, at least, seven and then it'd taken so goddamn long to fill out everything. They had to go through her belongings and decide what to keep, talk to a million and one doctors (and one even suggested they get Steve in for a routine checkup, just in case, which made Bucky almost choke), fill out packet after packet of legal forms. That doctor Steve had been talking about (he wasn't lying, his name really _was_ Strange, and he lived up to that) came in to give them an envelope. They had to register her death, which made this whole process even longer and more shitty. Bucky was going to take care of all of it though.

The last thing they had to do: decide what they wanted to do with the body. Bucky had called up his mom and talked to her with the doctors for at least, a good half hour. Oh man, Bucky could see the fire in Steve's eyes when he said they'd pay for the funeral, but thankfully, it was his mom that got him to calm down.

Steve openly stated he didn't want to be pitied, to which Bucky's mom simply said he was part of the family, and they take care of their own. Steve had always been weird like that about money. It was okay for Steve to buy their PS4 for Christmas, but never okay if he spent twenty five cents on a gumball for Steve. (He’s probably going to yell at him when he finds out what _his_ Christmas gift is this year, but Bucky thinks it’s pretty worth it).

During that amount of time, Natasha had swung by the coffee shop downstairs to pick up breakfast (aka coffee and muffins). By the time it was one o'clock, they were still stuck in that damn hospital and Bucky really didn't want to keep Clint and Nat waiting.

He pulled away from Steve to tell them they should go home and get some rest themselves. They could swing by their place and get Lucky, or they could take care of him for another night, didn't really matter.

Natasha ended up calling a friend so they could get Lucky and head home. When they hugged, she held onto him, whispered in his ear, “ _Let him take care of you too_.” Damn right he glared at Clint.

“You need anything, Steve?” He ran his fingers under his shirt, feather light touches over his ribs. “Tea or… ice cream.”

He laughed through his nose. “Maybe ice cream…”

“Okay,” Bucky said with a tired smile, kissing his cheek before he wiggled out of bed. “Two scoops?”

“And sprinkles,” Steve added.

“Right. Of course,” he turned around before leaving the room. “Stay here. It'll just take a few minutes.”

“Okay, Buck.”

Even though Steve watched his every movement, he still closed the door before he almost fell to his knees, buckling under his weight. He made it to the kitchen, steadied himself against the sink, whitened knuckles gripping metal.

It'd hit him. Finally. Sarah was gone. This wasn't some kind of practical joke gone horribly wrong or a dramatic romance novel with a twist ending where he'd walk back into the Rogers’ old house and she'd be standing there with a tray full of cookies.

He smacked his head against the counter but he didn't care. His whole body was numb, tingling, like the sensation you get after arm falls asleep from leaning on it for too long.

He scared himself, how much he cried. He cried so hard his ears started ringing and all he could hear were his labored breaths and echoing sobs.

He cried so hard that he didn't hear Steve sneaking up behind him, only felt his head pressed to his back and arms holding him. He didn’t jump. He welcomed the touch.

“Thought I told you to stay,” Bucky's voice was so quiet he doubted Steve could hear him. He did, and his arms only grew tighter.

“I didn't want you to be alone.”

He cupped his hand over Steve's. “This really ain't fair, you're right. I'm so sorry, Stevie.”

“I still have you though.”

“And I'm not going anywhere.”

“I know. Me either.”

Bucky choked out, “'til the end of the line.”

“‘til the end of the line,” Steve repeated.

 

* * *

 

Cider was always a fall tradition, right? Like pumpkin spice lattes from Starbucks, you couldn't survive fall without at least one cup of cider. After they laid in bed, restless and worn out and sick of crying, they’d decided to go back to that twenty four hour breakfast diner.

Just them. Like the good ol’ times.

Bucky knew they both looked like a goddamn mess. He'd _finally_ changed his clothes and thrown on a pair of sweatpants and a sweater with a neckline so stretched it made him weep all over again. Steve's hair was sticking up all over the place, bags under his eyes and tip of his nose as red as Rudolph's.

But, then that also brought some humor to their gloomy situation. They strolled through McGolrick park under the turning leaves, branches speckled with bright yellows and dark reds. They walked hand in hand, drinking warm cider from to go cups and nibbling on a donut (which Steve fed to Bucky because he almost dropped the thing in a patch of mud…)

They'd eventually found a bench, tucked away from the rest of the crowd who shared the same idea of taking a slow stroll that evening.

Bucky was leaning into Steve's side, brushing his knuckles up and down his leg as Steve flicked through his phone, tapping on something to listen to.

 

 _Deep into the night with the moonlight as my guide_  
_I go wander through the pines and make my way to nature's shrines_  
_and I look up to the sky and I know you're still alive,_ _  
_ but I wonder where you are I call your name into the dark.

 

Bucky looked at Steve. He set his cup down and brushed his thumb along his jawline. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Steve nodded.

 

  
_I wake up in the morning and I don't know where I've been._  
_All alone on a mountainside, and huddled in the wind._  
_And it feels like I've been away for an era but nothing has changed at all._  
_And it feels like I was with you, but what did we do and where have you gone?_

Bucky chuckled, adjusting his earbud. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Steve pulled his hand closer.

   
_On the night you disappeared, I wish I had seen it clear._  
_But a strange light in the sky was shining right into my eyes._  
_There was no one else in sight, just the endless frozen pines._ _  
_ but I wonder all they know 'cause they don't die and they don't grow.

“Remember when your mom would take us to her knitting groups?”

Steve smiled. “Yeah.”

  
  
_I am ready to follow you even though I don't know where._  
_I will wait in the night until you decide to take me there._  
_Cause I know I don't wanna stay here forever, it's time to be moving on._  
_I don't wanna be the only one livin' when all of my friends are gone._

“Think we should pay them a visit this week. They’re every, uh—" 

“Thursday. From five to six thirty,” he looked at Bucky. “Sure. That sounds good, Buck.”

 _  
_ _I will be waiting for you on the other side of the frozen pines._ _  
_ _I'm gonna find a way through there's another life beyond the line._ _  
_ _I will be waiting for you on the other side of the frozen pines._ _  
_ _I'm gonna find a way through there's another life beyond the line_

“That’s my boy.” He pulled Steve closer before he kissed him.

 

* * *

 


	12. Scarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah Rogers had plenty of hobbies she loved to pass her time with, her favorites being anything craft orientated; knitting, sewing, making window clings, painting sun catchers. Growing up, Steve and Bucky occasionally went to her knitting groups- they didn't partake in the craft themselves (well, sometimes Steve did), but they liked to watch everyone's creations come to life.
> 
> Now, they find themselves reunited with the same ladies that watched them grow up as they attend Sarah's ex-knitting group. Things take a turn though, much to Bucky's surprise. What he thought was going to be a night out at the sewing studio turned into... a night he'd never forget, honestly.

* * *

 

 

“Yes, I remember what you said, and I don’t care if this gets cut outta my paycheck, but, I ain’t gonna start begging you. I seriously _need_ the time off,” Bucky drummed his fingers against the brick that enclosed the rooftop patio; he had his phone nudged between his ear and shoulder, other hand twirling a cigarette before going in for another long inhale. Bucky didn’t have any self control, and he _knew_ better than to start this stupid cycle all over again; he couldn’t turn down a cigarette just like he couldn’t ever say no to Steve.

It was still the morning, Thursday morning to be exact, and Bucky had the taste of orange juice on his tongue. “James, man, you’re so frustrating,” he could _hear_ the anger in his bosses’ voice as he wavered from extremely loud to so faint, Bucky had to strain to hear him. “See, I would’ve fired you already, like a year ago, but the fact is, you’re probably the best employee I have,” and then he sighed, which made Bucky take another drag, “you’re driving me up a wall here. I don’t know what to do.”

“Promise, whatever you need, I’ll do it, when I get _back_ ,” he exhaled slowly, “overtime, closing, delivery. Quill, I already put in,” he squinted at the rising sun, “twenty five hours this week. ‘m just asking for this favor.”

“How long were you thinking? Two days?”

This wasn’t going to be pretty, and he knew it. But, he _wasn’t_ begging. “A week? Maybe?” he scratched the back of his head.

“A _week_?”

“I know it sounds like a lot, but I _need_ it.”

“And why do you need a week off, James?”

He wanted to smack his head against the brick (and he brushed his fingers the rough ledge, but he decided getting a concussion over this wasn’t worth it). “It’s a family emergency, man.”

“What kind of family emergency?” Peter was still pressing. He wasn’t going to give up. To be fair, Bucky’d already taken so much time off in a short period, he didn’t blame him if he thought he was goofing around or trying to test his limits.

His boss was a good guy. He’d worked hard to get to where he was; kid from Missouri with a deadbeat dad, no mom, and twelve cents in his pocket that moved to New York, alone, at eighteen to follow his dreams. Well, originally, the overall picture was going to be that he opened up a professional dance studio in Harlem, of all places, and that he’d meet the girl of his dreams who he could dance all his troubles away with.

What really ended up happening was: he could hardly afford rent, had no savings or extra spending money to even take a girl out for drinks, worked five part time jobs in bi-weekly rotations, and ate week old leftovers regularly. Peter eventually got a full time job at a locally owned record store; an older guy walked into one of the retail stores he worked at, wearing a to-the-floor trench coat made out of red leather. He had this gold grill and a mohawk; Peter always referred to this guy as his ‘real dad’ though, and Bucky had met Yondu once. He was a good guy, very fatherly and a wicked sense of humor.

He went from organizing albums and jamming out to _Led Zeppelin_ on full blast when no one else was in the store (he’d brought that up as an icebreaker once) to opening up a small hole in the wall ready-to-go restaurant with the same guy. He did end up meeting the girl of his dreams too, not that she was a big fan of dancing herself.

And now, Bucky was working at one of the many restaurants in his chain ‘Milano’. So, yeah, he respected the guy, but he also really respected Steve and his feelings, and knew he needed to do something about the fact that he’d been cooped up in their house for the past few days, watching Disney movies on repeat and playing with Legos. If Bucky wasn’t there, he wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t shower, he wouldn’t move off that damn couch (after Bucky would haul him from their bedroom every morning).

It killed Bucky to see him like that; wearing the same clothes since Sunday night (though, who was Bucky to judge), not combing his hair or washing his face or brushing his teeth. His eyes beyond bloodshot and lips chapped. He knew it was selfish, but when he’d gotten back from work on Monday, came back to the sight of Steve with tears in his eyes and refusing to even drink water, he really wanted to book it to Clint’s or Peggy’s or, anywhere but their own apartment.

He didn’t know how to deal with seeing Steve broken, because it broke _him_. It was like someone ripped out his heart and stuffed it down a garbage disposal; he’d think about Steve at work, hear him sniffing or sometimes get a lonely text from him, and Bucky instantly felt like he was going to hurl. His heart never stopped hurting and he never stopped worrying about Steve.

Bucky cleared his throat. If he could just get a few days off to spend with Steve, make sure he got back to his own job and took care of himself, he wouldn’t feel so anxiously on edge all the time and would be able to concentrate. He couldn’t focus on anything but Steve now.

“Ain’t that technically illegal to ask?”

“Not when this is dependent on whether I let you go or not.”

Bucky hung his head. He didn’t want to choose between money and his boyfriend— obviously he knew which he’d pick, in a heartbeat, but he really didn’t ever complain or ask for much. He needed this one thing, this one time.

He spoke softly, “my partner’s mom passed away last Sunday,” saying those words still felt surreal to him, like he was reading off a overly rehearsed script that was too implausible to believe. He continued, “And, he’s not doing good, okay? He’s doing real shitty, to be quite frank.”

Then, it was in that moment that something snapped in his brain and he could see Clint looking at him, sitting on their couch with Lucky’s paws on his lap. He thought about their conversation from the other night.

“ _I love Steve, fuckin’ duh, right. But, he’s been my only friend my whole life, ‘cept you guys. And, I never got it_ — _when we were younger, I was the one that always had girls lining up to talk to me. Got tons of Christmas cards and Valentines day notes. Then, when we got to high school, it was like no one wanted to ever hang out with us as a pair. Everyone bullied us, or teased us… but then I saw Steve once when he was leaving class, I ‘unno, math or something and he had a group of people talking to him, smiling at him._

 _“And, I didn’t want to feel jealous, or angry at that, but I did. ‘Cause, he’s an amazing guy and I get why anyone_ would _want to be his friend, but no one ever approached me, or him when we were together. They only ever talked to him when we were apart. And it made me think there was something wrong with me. Am I_ — _am I scary?”_

_“You’re not scary, bud. No, uh, I know what you’re talking about. It’s because everyone thought you were intimidating.”_

_“Intimidating? What do you mean?”_

_“Because no one knew anything about you. You never talked about yourself, you never talked about your mom or sister, you hardly ever smiled, unless it was at Steve. You were just the guy that wore all black and dated Steve.”_

_“Then why’d you and Tony ever talk to us?”_

_“Because. We met you before you were dating. When your personality wasn’t just… Steve.”_

He could hear his voice, clear as day, “ _Jay, there’s nothing wrong with showing a little emotion. Like I said, I know feelings suck, but when you turn into this emotionless guy whose only personality traits are… talking about Steve or being with Steve or making Steve happy, people don’t know how to interact with that.”_

And then it echoed, _“There’s nothing wrong with showing a little emotion.”_

Bucky sniffled, and it startled him. Quill hadn’t said anything yet, but he could still hear the crackle from the other line. He was still there. Taking one last inhale before stubbing out his cigarette, he exhaled sharply.

“I’m so damn worried about Steve, that he’s gonna accidentally leave the stove on and burn the whole place down, or go outside and get hurt ‘cause he’s so off in his own world he won’t check the street before crossing it. Man, I-I can’t concentrate at work. I text him every chance I get. I-I-I miss my exit almost every morning, sometimes I leave the house without my car keys.”

He licked his lips, and all he could taste now was salt; the linger of citrus was now but a ghost on his tongue. “I can’t leave him alone— fuck, _I_ can’t be alone right now. I— _please_ , I’m asking you nicely. I need the job, but I gotta take care of my boyfriend, and let him take care of me too.”

Peter let out a huff of a breath before he said, “Okay. Hold on.”

“Okay,” Bucky squeaked out. He palmed at his forehead with the heel of his hand. So he got the emotion part down, trying to be more open. But, how was he going to do the other thing, _not_ base his entire life around Steve? He shook his head. No, he didn’t need to worry about that one. He didn’t care if he scared everyone else away. All he needed at the end of the day _was_ Steve.

“Alright, James? You still there, man?”

“I’m here.”

“Good. So, don’t worry about the rest of this week, or next week. Just come in next Friday, and if you need longer than that, it’s fine. Kraglin said he’d be happy to cover for you. Take it easy, and my condolences to you both.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” he muttered under his breath, away from the phone. “Thanks, Quill. Like, a lot. Seriously.”

“And, hey James, I’m sorry I was being hard on you. I had no idea you even had a boyfriend, so, thank you for being honest with me. I’ve—” everything went muffled and quiet for a moment before he could hear him again, “when you get back, I think we should talk about getting you a raise. Rest up until then.”

“Y-yeah, okay. That sounds cool. Thanks again.”

“Mhm. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

Bucky slowly slid his phone back into his pocket and pinched the bridge of his nose before swallowing down one last gulp of fresh air before turning on his heels to head inside. That was taken care of now, went a lot smoother than he thought it would, but now that left him with thinking of ideas to keep them occupied until next week.

He didn’t mind bumming around all day in pajamas and eating breakfast at ten at night, he was actually kind of excited to have some time to do nothing. But, Bucky was also the kind of person that would get restless easy if he wasn’t doing anything; part of the reason he took up smoking in the first place, it kept his hands busy when him and Steve were standing around, doing nothing.

As their door creaked open (he always tried to open it slowly now, loud noises made them both a little jumpy), he could hear the sound of the sink running. And that’s when he saw Steve, standing upright with his birdnest tame, a blanket around his shoulders and, wow, he even changed his clothes. He was wearing _Bucky’s_ clothes again, mind you, but that’s fine. That’s totally fine. Yep. Not a problem at all.

“Well, ain’t that just a breath of fresh air. Look who’s up,” Bucky cooed, the corners of his mouth twitching. Steve looked over his shoulder, setting a cup down in the sink. He spun around, arms stretched out in front of him.

Bucky shuffled over to him, practically lifting him off the ground as he pulled him closer, tightly holding him. He rested his chin on his shoulder, swaying them back and forth. “You’re wearing my pants again.”

“They’re comfy,” Steve mumbled.

“Yeah, I _know_. That’s why _I_ bought them.” He could hear Steve chuckling, so he grabbed his chin. He leaned in to kiss him, but then that got him studying his face all over again; he looked better today, his eyes far too bright of a blue, his freckles prominent and front teeth showing as he couldn’t help but smile.

But then that smile quickly faltered and all he could see was Steve pouting, forehead creasing in that way that always made Bucky _want_ to laugh, but he didn’t. “You smell like smoke.”

“‘m sorry. I’m gonna—” Bucky bit his lower lip, sighing. “I’m gonna try to stop again, promise. I just… I called my boss and I was getting so nervous, I thought I was gonna hyperventilate.”

“That’s why you went up there? Buck, you should’ve told me. I would’ve gone up there with you.”

“It’s fine, Stevie. I got it taken care of.”

“Yeah, but… I’m a lot better of a stress reducer than a cigarette is.”

“Yeah, you are, Steve,” he cupped his jaw, kissing his nose.

“So, what did he say?”

“Hm?”

“Your boss.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, he told me not to worry about it, someone else is gonna cover my shifts and he doesn’t want me to come back in until next week, at least.”

“ _Really_?” Steve almost gasped, his eyes widening.

“Yes, really. Means we getta have a staycation and binge watch,” he waved towards their bookshelf. One day, after Bucky’d gotten back from work, he found Steve on the floor _drowning_ in DVD cases. He was trying to organize them by: unwatched, favorites, and things to give away to Clint or someone. Their bookshelf had three levels with enough room to stack two rows of DVDs on top of each other, which was great because they had close to three hundred movies (which also proved that Bucky had a spending problem). “That whole damn shelf.”

Steve chuckled. “Hey, we’re still gonna uh,” Steve looked at him with a wiggle of his brows. “Go to _knitting club_ , right?”

“‘Course we are, sweetheart. We both already act like old men, time to live up to our titles,” Bucky reached to pinch Steve’s cheek but he slapped his hand away.

“Buck, do you know anything about knitting?”

“I mean, I know what it _is_ . I’ve watched your mom knit, I unno, _hundreds_ of sweaters and shit probably.”

“But, you’ve never done it, have you?”

“Well, no…"

“Awh,” now it was Steve’s turn to pinch Bucky’s cheek, but he allowed it. “Gonna pop your yarn cherry, huh?”

Bucky made a sound that… sounded like someone whacked him at full force in the stomach. Steve all but snorted. “ _God_ . Guess that’s _one_ way of putting it.”

“Only way to put it, rather.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“Except for when you’re left.”

“...I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” Steve pushed up on his tippy toes to push Bucky’s hair behind his ear, kissing him softly. “What do you wanna do until then though?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, didn’t you say it was—”

“We should probably leave quarter past four. Just to be safe.”

“Okay, Stevie. Sounds good. I ‘unno, you wanna uh— _you_ should probably shower.”

Steve frowned. “Are you saying I _smell_?”

“Yes.”

“Jackass.”

“Just telling you the truth, sweetheart. C’mon,” he pushed on his shoulder, knocking the blanket away from him. “I’ll take one with you, so you won’t feel so alone.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Anytime. Hey,  after, we could, uh…” he scratched his chin before snapping his fingers. “You never started _Until Dawn_ , did you?”

“Oh, God. Buck, I don’t like scary shit, how many times do I have to tell you that.”

“Stevie, it ain’t that bad. I’ll hold you, okay? I’ll be right with you, for emotional support.”

“Ugh.”

“Mm, yeah. That’s what we’re gonna be doing til we go,” he gave Steve a gentle pat on his ass until he stepped into the bathroom, closing the door shut behind them.

“Can’t wait,” Steve said flat, letting Bucky pull off his shirt.

 

* * *

 

 

The door chimed as they stepped inside the overly warm room of the sewing center that was only a few blocks away from Steve’s childhood home. The place had been there for more than thirty years, and sure they were both feeling a bit sentimental and weepy lately, but he didn’t realize coming here would make him feel _this_ emotional, that he tried to turn around and push the door back open.

“What’re you doing?” Steve softly asked. They hadn’t even managed to get their coats off when Bucky heard a strangely familiar voice echoing from the back rooms. The store was set up with a showroom in the front, displaying all of the newest models from Viking, Brother and Singer, and a wall of fabric surrounding the otherwise bleak area.

In the back were two rooms, one used for meetings (they also had embroidery and cross stitch groups), and the other was used for classes. The store wasn’t huge, but it was spacey enough.

“Oh my heavens, is that who I think it is?” A woman peeked her head out of the backroom.

“Who’s who?” another voice asked.

“The little blond boy with the brunet at the door. That looks an awful lot like Sarah’s son, Steve.”

“ _Steve_?”

“Wait, Steve?” A blonde who was leaning behind the front counter asked, waving in their direction. Her hair draped over her shoulders, and the way she carried herself reminded Bucky of Peggy.

“Hey… Sharon, right?” Steve waved back towards her.

Bucky leaned closer to him. “ _Who_?”

He whispered back, but then Sharon repeated his words, “I’m Peggy’s cousin,” ah, that’s why, “Sorry, we’ve only met once or twice, years ago I think.”

“Right. How are you? How’s Peggy?”

“She’s good. _I’m_ good too. She told me all about the other night. Sounds like you guys had a lot of fun.”

“We did,” Bucky interjected. “Could’ve been a lot scarier though.”

“Oh, yeah. Wasn’t scary at all,” Steve nodded.

“Uh huh. Is that why Peggy sprained her ankle? Because you guys toppled her over from how _not_ scary it was?”

“...uh,” Bucky turned his attention to one of the ladies coming over to them. She looked close to his own mom’s age, reddish-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and a horribly gaudy sweater on, decked out in jack o lanterns and black cats.

He watched her as she looked at Steve. “I’m not sure if you remember me, but—”

“I remember you. Karen, right?”

“Yes! I remember you too, James,” now she was looking at Bucky. “I use to be over at your house almost every weekend, after church, Steve. The last time I saw you both, you were this tall,” she held a hand up to her knee.

“Steve’s still that tall, to be fair.”

He nudged Bucky in the side, huffing. “ _Ohmygod, khuy tebe,_ ” he whispered under his breath.

Bucky tried his hardest to bite his tongue and not burst out laughing. “ _Sledom_.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“Who’s this?” Another lady, that only Steve seemed to recognize, if that smile on his face counted for anything, gawked at them.

He pat Bucky’s chest. “This is Bucky. Uh, some of you might know him as James. I’m not sure.”

“Oh, _James_. It’s been so long,” another lady said behind the growing crowd. Bucky could see Sharon chuckling from the corner of his eye. “I think the last time I saw you was ten years ago.”

“Probably the last time I came here, honestly,” he scratched the back of his head. “Ever since I started working, all my free time kinda just… became nonexistent.”

“You’re both so grown up now. Such handsome young men.”

Bucky sucked in his lips before Steve cleared his throat. “Bucky’s my—” but just as he was about to mouth ‘boyfriend’, someone interrupted.

“Is he your husband?”

“Oh, I remember that! Sarah said something years ago about her son getting marri—”

“Wait, _wait wait_. _No,_ ” Steve’s face was bright red. “He’s— he’s my boyfriend. We’re _not_ married.”

“Why not?”

Steve leaned closer to Bucky, squeezing his hand so hard it made Bucky’s eyes start to water. “I’m— I’m only twenty four.”

“Oh, sweetie. I got married the minute I turned eighteen.”

“Me and my husband already had three kids at your age.”

“ _Buck,_ ” Steve whimpered under his breath.

“Okay, alright,” Bucky ran a hand over his face. “We might in the future,” and for a split second he could see Steve staring a hole through him, which made him gulp. “So, uh,” he gestured towards the back rooms. “Knitting.”

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky kept glancing over towards Steve, like he was trying to desperately pass a test he didn’t study for. Steve was already half finished with a scarf, a very soft and lovely looking scarf, while Bucky was still struggling to hook his beginning stitches together. He licked at his lips, cursed under his breath until he was met with Steve staring back at him when he tried to cheat again. With a smirk and a small huff, he put his own needles on his lap.

“Give me that,” he snatched up the mess of yarn from Bucky. He mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him, which only got Steve grinning wider and rolling his eyes.

“So, Steve,” Bucky had soon learned that the lady with the flower tucked in her hair was named Nancy, and he’d met her at least four times, three of those times being at Christmas parties held by one of Sarah’s coworkers, and once when they’d gone out to dinner for Steve’s birthday when they were kids. “How have you been, sweetie?”

Steve looked up, his lips parted. His lashes fluttered and Bucky knew he was the only one that noticed. “I’ve—” he took a deep breath. “We’ve been okay. We got our own place in Brooklyn, Buck’s working full time at a restaurant ‘round here and is gonna get a raise soon.”

“Oh, wow. Congratulations. Do you still do your paintings?”

“You were always such an amazing artist, Steven,” the one with the blonde bun was named Lynn… Bucky thought.

“Yep,” Steve chuckled, but it was the kind of chuckle he let out when he was nervous. “Graduated from NYU last year, actually.”

“What hardworking boys you are. If only my son could be like you two. He moved back home last month and all he does all day is play those video games.”

Bucky snorted. “ _Wish_ I could do that.”

Steve looked at him. “No you don’t.”

Bucky looked back. “No, I don’t.”

“Steve,” Karen this time, sitting to Steve’s right, spoke up. “How’s your mother doing? Last I heard she was in the hospital…?”

“That’s right. Did she ever get my card? I think the church also sent her a gift basket.”

“She’s dead.”

See, after Steve had to keep repeating the same thing over and over again, to Bucky’s family and their friends, and his own boss and co-workers, the formality of which he addressed the situation had went from, ‘ _She was really sick for a long time and now, I honestly think she’s more at peace not having to deal with this shit anymore_ ,’ to ‘ _She’s dead. Can we move on please_ ’.

Bucky was used to it now, and hey, he respected Steve’s choice. He _didn’t_ want to keep talking about it and bringing it up, droning on about Sarah’s lifelong battle with poor health. Other people didn’t always react the same way. Like now, the whole room had grown eerily quiet, and Bucky could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck.

As awkward and loud and annoying as it was, with his chair scratching against the linoleum floor, he shifted closer to Steve, grabbing him and yanking him closer as he kissed his forehead. Steve sniffled again. It hadn’t gotten any easier, for either of them, to accept that she was gone. Like Bucky said to his boss, Steve _was_ a mess. He was thankful he could even get him to shower.

But, on the bright side of things, it was starting to get easier to talk about things other than just her death. And, Bucky was going to make damn sure it stayed that way.

“I’m so sorry.”

So, he took over. “That’s why we wanted to come today. She passed away on— you know what, we’re here to remember her and celebrate her. Let’s not make this sad.”

“Agreed,” Karen chimed in, smiling at him. Bucky can also feel Steve grinning against him, his thumb brushing over his knuckles.

“So, uh… any of you know what comic conventions are?” That was Bucky’s way of trying to start up small talk. He was a nerd, he couldn’t help it. He was trying to get somewhere with the conversation though.

“Comic _whats_?”

“Like the San Diego one?”

Bucky hummed, pointing at Nancy. “I don’t know anything ‘bout knitting, Steve’s,” Bucky looked down at his work. He’d stopped, but he’d already made quite a bit of progress on Bucky’s mess too. “Apparently a master at that. But, uh, we went to this one in Jersey back in Spring and, anyways, we really got into sewing.”

“Sewing is becoming such a lost art. My eldest daughter bought her son a sewing machine for Christmas this year. She texted me when she was at the store because she had no idea what to buy. Did you know the make them for kids now?”

“Do they? When my son was growing up, he was in the boy scouts. They were required to learn the basics of sewing; darning, hems, the ‘ol whipstitch.”

“Really?” Steve looked up. “Wish we could’ve learned how to sew when we were in the boy scouts.”

“Well, we know how _now_. Doesn’t really matter anymore,” Buck muttered.

“I’m just _saying_ ,” then Steve pulled his hand away and reached into his pocket, taking out his phone. “Buck’s really talented at it. We made costumes for Halloween this year and, look,” he started flipping through photos, setting the scarves aside before standing up and jumping away so Bucky couldn’t grab his arm.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Bucky groaned.

“What? You brought it up. You don’t want me to show off how talented a sewer my boyfriend is?” Steve stuck his tongue out at him.

He passed his phone around. “Wow, you made these, James?”

Buck scratched his neck. “Y-yeah. S’all from scratch. Modified a Simplicity pattern for most of the stuff on mine and then just kinda free-handed the one Steve’s wearing."

“Have you ever thought about selling your work?”

“Oh, _no,_ ” he snorted. “I just do it for fun.”

“He’s good though, ain’t he? We won first place for,” Bucky could only imagine what Steve was showing them and it made his palms start to sweat, “these ones. I sculpted the backpacks and props, he did the jumpsuits and wig stuff.”

“Would you two ever be interested in making costumes for kids? Next year for Halloween, I mean. My grandson is really into the whole superhero genre. Batman and all that.”

“Sure,” Steve said before Bucky could even process what she was saying. “Buck would love to.”

He sighed through his nostrils, pasting a thin lipped smile on his face. “Would be a pleasure to.”

 

* * *

 

Everyone was so enamored in talk with each other that they didn’t realize it was ten to eight when they started packing up their things. In the end, Steve had almost finished knitting a scarf (a mix of dark reds and gray), which he still threw around Bucky’s neck regardless. Bucky _tried_ continuing what Steve started on his scarf, but his scarf quickly turned into an… avant garde tube sock. Or possibly a very, very long beanie.

They were lingering around the front of the store when Steve handed Bucky his backpack. “Buck, ‘m gonna go to the bathroom, then you wanna pick up something to eat?”

“Sounds good, honey,” he ruffled his fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to kiss him first. As Steve walked away, he felt a tap on his shoulder, spinning around to see that Karen lady beaming at him.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Bucky shifted on his feet.

“I’m sorry if this is invasive to say, but, I wanted to tell you that you’re such a lovely couple.”

“Oh, uh, thank you?”

“Really. He always looked up to you so much when you were children, and you can see it by the way he looks at you, how much he loves you.”

Bucky looked over his shoulder. He’d officially made up his mind. He was going to propose to Steve, no backing out of it. And, hell, he was starting to get _excited_ about it. He wanted to just scream at the top of his lungs so everyone in the world would know how much he loved Steve Rogers. He wasn’t going to do that though, because his voice always cracked horribly when he screamed. “I’m actually,” he cupped a hand over his mouth, “I’m planning to propose to him soon. On Halloween maybe.”

She gasped, slapping her palm over her mouth. “Oh, honey. That’s _wonderful_. You better not forget about us and come see us again.”

“We will.”

“With pictures. I want to see that ring.”

“Okay, for sure,” he laughed, “it’s really pretty, ain’t gonna lie. Got it custom made awhile ag—”

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath when he felt Steve’s arms wrap around his waist, cheek pressed to his shoulder.

“What’re you talking about?”

“Oh, nothing, Stevie,” Bucky cupped over his hand, patting him. “Just how cute you are.”

Nancy chuckled. “I was telling James that you two need to stop by more often.”

“We will,” Steve nodded, letting go of Bucky and taking his bag back, gripping its straps. “Maybe next week?” he looked up at Bucky.

“Sounds like a date, bud.”

“Great. We’re happy to have you both back.

“Happy to be back,” Steve said as Bucky swung open the door for them both. But, before they left, Steve turned to wave back towards Sharon. She had a broom pulled out, headset around her neck.

“Tell Peggy we both said hi.”

She winked. “Will do. Bye.”

As soon as they got in the car, Bucky tossed his phone into the cupholder, starting the engine. He flicked on the radio, turning to some channel (he just wanted background noise, honestly), before backing out. “How’re you doing, Stevie?”

Steve placed his hand over his own on the wheel, and it made Bucky bite his lower lip. “Good, actually. I feel pretty good.”

“You don’t know how happy that makes me to hear that. God, I’ve been so worried about you, Steve.”

“I’ve been worried about _you_. How’re you, Buck?”

“I’m fine. Just kinda tired, real hungry, but I’m glad we went.”

“You are?”

He looked at Steve quickly. “Yeah. Hell, I seriously didn’t recognize anyone there but I’m glad they remembered you.”

“They remembered you too.”

“Let me rephrase that— I’m glad _you_ remembered who everyone was, or else that would’ve been…”

“Horrible?”

“Nightmare fuel.”

Steve snorted. “Where’re we going?”

"Just the store by our place. That okay? We can get a few things for tonight and tomorrow maybe.”

“That’s fine, Buck.” His hand was still resting there, and it made Bucky swallow harder. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Can I ask you something? About something you said earlier?”

“Go for it.”

“Did you really mean that—what you said about us maybe getting married in the future…?”

“Uh,” he replied eloquently. Now he _didn’t_ want Steve touching him, because he was going to feel how bad he was shaking. “D-do you want to get married someday?”

“I don’t know, Buck.” That made Bucky take in a deep breath. Steve continued, “I mean, we both know I’m gonna be with you no matter what. It’s not like I’m going anywhere, ever. I know there’s some advantages of getting married, like tax shit but, do we really need dumb rings to signify that?”

“Guess not.”

“The concept of marriage… don’t you think it’s a little outdated? I mean, you said you aren’t even religious anymore.”

“Sure,” he gestured loosely, knocking Steve away. “I’m not disagreeing, the whole thing is kinda cheesy. And it’s fuckin’ crazy how much people spend on weddings. I mean, they’re just fancy parties pretty much. But... “ as they pull into the parking lot of a Whole Foods, Bucky turned to look at Steve. Fuck, he really was sweating because uh, Christ, was this happening _now_? “Even despite all that, there’s something that… I just wanna marry you, Steve.”

Steve chuckled. That was his first response. Bucky lowered his brows. Not how he thought Steve would react. But, then he started laughing harder and that made him worry his lip relentlessly. “Okay, _why’re_ you laughing at that? I’m serious, Steve. I— I wanna marry you. I _really_ do.”

Steve looked back at him, and he could see something hiding in his eyes, a spark of mischief. He took his hand into his own and leaned forward to kiss him, whispering against his skin, “I know you do,” and then he felt something cold pressed into his palm. Cold and _small._  Was Steve _testing_ him before? What was happening...

“I found this the other day when I was hanging up your clothes.”

Bucky was almost scared to look down, but when he did, and he opened his palm, he saw Steve’s ring. Reflecting the light from the store. “God _dammit,_ Steve. I’ve had this fucking thing for _six years_ and now you find it?”

Steve looked so pleased with himself. Now Bucky was wondering if he’d been planning this all day long, if he’d even called up those people beforehand and told them to accidentally call him Steve’s husband. He never doubted Steve, always with tricks up his sleeves. Steve, sleeve, no difference. “So you actually were trying to propose to me in Hawaii? Like, when you got down on the ground, that’s what you were going to do…?”

Bucky hung his head. “Yeah. Was gonna ask you too the other night, when we were on the phone, ‘til Clint’s damn dog barged in and ruined everything.”

“You were?”

Bucky nodded. “Steve,” he looked at him, “if I’d actually asked you the first time, would you of said yes?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes, honestly.”

“No,” Steve rubbed Bucky’s thigh. “I wouldn’t of.”

“Because you were eighteen?”

“And I was more than happy with where we were in our relationship. I mean, I still am.”

“So, if I asked you now…?”

“Are you going to?”

Bucky looked towards the store for a split second before looking back at Steve, inhaling slowly though his nostrils. He could hear his heart racing and it felt like he was floating, but this whole moment felt strange, because he was a lot more relaxed than he imagined. Probably because Steve already knew what was coming, and had, most likely, set everything up so Bucky would stop pussyfooting and finally commit.

Pinching the ring between two fingers, he held it up to Steve. “Will you? Will you marry me, Steve?”

Steve was grinning ear to ear and he could see his skin blotching, even in the dark lighting. “That ring really _is_ gorgeous.”

“Not a dumb ring?”

Steve shook his head with a smirk.

“I wanted to get something that looked like you. Er, your style. Not too plain, but nothing overly flashy. Something as… beautiful as you?”

“Was that a statement or a question?”

“Christ, can you answer my _original_ question?”

Steve’s lashes fluttered and he looked around before settling on Bucky’s face, gripping his 'scarf' with a heavy hand, pulling him into a long kiss. “Yes, you idiot. I will.”

“You’re not just saying that for me, right? You actually want to do this too?”

“Yeah. I wanna marry you too, Buck. There’s just something about being called your husband that really does it for me.”

Bucky smirked, sliding the ring slowly on his finger. A perfect fit. He couldn’t believe that just happened. His brain would probably catch up, eventually. “Glad I waited then.”

“I am too. Wait, were you _really_ going to propose to me over the phone?”

“Yeah.”

“Suiting. Since that’s how you asked me out in the first place.”

“Would you of said yes _that_ time?”

“Yeah. I would’ve.”

A wave of strong regrets washed over Bucky, because, dammit, if he’d not gotten in his own damn way, Sarah could’ve seen them engaged. Steve could’ve hung up the phone and yelled to her about him proposing. If he’d done it years ago (which was super hypothetical, because Steve already said his answer would’ve been no), she could’ve seen them as married men. But, he couldn’t reverse time and now he had to deal with the consequences of always running away from everything.

“Hey. I know what you’re thinking,” he tapped on his temple, “she knew how much we love each other. That’s all we talked about that night. You. Stories about us as kids, stories she’d never heard before. Went on and on about how happy you make me, and she told me how much _she_ loves you too.”

A single tear streaked down Bucky’s cheek, so Steve leaned closer to kiss it away. “What do you think she would’ve said if you told her we were engaged?”

“Seriously, she probably wouldn’t of said much. She wouldn’t of been surprised, that’s for damn sure. She probably would’ve just cried about how much we’ve grown up.”

“Then start talking about all the cakes she could bake for our wedding.”

“And then she would’ve forced us to make our own suits.”

“Which we’re _not_ doing. We’ll go suit _shopping_ like normal people.”

“Awh, but _Buck_ , I want a really tight fitting suit, like Hot Topic skinny jeans tight, made out of chrome vinyl. Like, mirror reflection level chrome. Oh! And a matching top hat.”

Bucky sighed. “ _Steve,_ don’t you dare make me regret this already.”

He laughed against his lips, kissing him again. “I’m _kidding_. I say we just head to Vegas and let Elvis Presley marry us in our sweatpants.”

“We could…”

“Or go to the courthouse.”

“Can we still get an Elvis impersonator if we do that?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Bucky scrunched his nose. “Sounds like a plan, bud.”

Steve smiled back, his dimples were showing.

“Steve, did you— did you actually set this all up? I’m trying to wrap my head around what just happened here.”

“Maybe.”

“So you were joking about the whole, uh, dumb rings and marriage sucks thing?”

Steve snorted. “The rings, yes. The marriage part? No. I really _don’t_ like marriage and we don’t need a ceremony to prove that we’re devoted to each other. But, no I really, _really_ wanna marry you too Buck. Which is why, I… yeah, I found the ring in the pocket of your leather jacket.”

“Of course.”

“Yeah, and uh, well first I texted Clint, because I was like ‘what the fuck is this’. And then he explained almost everything to me, how you kept putting it off because you were scared, and all your, very manly, heart to heart talks. So, I looked up Karen on Facebook a few days ago because I saw she was listed online as the group leader, and told her how you were going to propose and had been skirting around the subject for _years._ Fuck, I didn’t want to wait any longer.

“So, I figured this would force you to finally do it, if we had the talk of marriage already floating in the air? And, this would make us feel not as fucking depressed and give us something to look forward to in the future now?”

“It was a great plan, Stevie. Worked out a hell lot better than what I was gonna originally do.”

“Which was?”

“Hide the ring in a candy wrapper and give it to you on Halloween, hoping that you’d open it and not lose the damn thing, or accidentally swallow it.”

“Mm, yeah. This _was_ a lot better.”

 

* * *

 

 

“After you, fiancé,” Bucky waved his arms, the automatic doors of Whole Foods sliding open.

“Thank you, fiancé,” Steve tugged him with. “Actually, what’re we gonna do about our last names?”

“Hm? Oh, uh… I ‘unno. We don’t have to change them. Combining them might be…”

“ _God,_  that would be hell to sign checks. ‘Steven Grant Rogers-Barnes’.”

“Dude, worse for me. ‘James Buchanan Barnes-Rogers’?”

“That’s almost the same length, Buck.”

“Whatever. I don’t know, you wanna keep your name, don’t you?”

Steve pressed his tongue to his cheek, picking up a basket. He tugged Bucky over to a large refrigerator, stocked with a plethora of sodas and iced teas, tossing two Cherry Cokes in.

“Stevie?”

“I’m thinkin’,” he looked up at Bucky. “I wouldn’t mind taking yours.”

Bucky’s mouth hung open. “Really?”

Steve nodded, progressing further into the store. “Yeah. Could be like starting a new chapter— there’s no one left in my family, but me. By taking your name, it’s like… starting over, becoming part of a family I never really had.”

“You were always part of my family though, Stevie.”

“Yeah, I know. But, then it’d be legal. ‘Steve Barnes’,” he snorted. “That’s so weird to say. S’like the kinda shit I’d write in the margins of my notebooks in school.”

“You use to do that?”

“Sometimes.”

Bucky laughed, but then he said, softly, “I like it though, the sound of that.”

“I do too. Hey, what do you want to eat?” They’d wandered over to the deli part of the store, with open salad bars and ready to order meals. They were surrounded by the smells of freshly baked bread and cheese pizza, which made Bucky’s mouth start to water. He was so hungry his stomach growled. “Could get sandwiches, or sushi, or pizza.”

“I like pizza.”

“I know you do.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I _mean_ , pizza sounds good.”

“Pizza it is then,” Steve dragged them over to the corner where there were stacks of boxes of pre-made pizza, some already warmed and ready to eat, while the others were more in the style of a traditional ‘cardboard pizza’, where you’d warm it up in your oven. “Speaking of pizza, when’re we gonna tell Clint and everyone else? Sure Clint already knows; I mean, he knew I was going to say yes to you.”

“Probably should tell him first then. Or, well, first after my mom.”

“I can’t believe you’ve seriously been hiding this,” he let go of Bucky to raise his hand and wiggle his finger, which got Bucky smiling something wicked, “for six years.”

“Mm, me either. Hid it all over the apartment, Steve. First it was taped behind that framed _Alien_ poster we use to have in our room, but when we took it down, I moved it to my nightstand. Then after almost fucking showing you the box ‘cause that’s where… we keep our _other_ important things, I moved it to this hole I made inside the couch cushion—”

“You made a _hole_ in our couch?”

“You’re missing the point here, Steve. What I’m saying is, I hid that thing in, I don’t know, probably thirty different spots.”

“You know where you should’ve hidden it?”

“Where?”

Steve wiggled his finger again and Bucky flicked his ear. “You said yourself you wouldn’t of even said yes, so, shut up. That’s part of the reason why I got so damn scared and never asked you. I didn’t know how you even felt about marriage, and then when you were so busy and stressed out with school, it didn’t feel like the right timing either.”

Steve rubbed his thumb along Bucky’s stubble. “Honey. I really _do_ want to marry you. All I mean is— I just don’t feel like we need rings or, _documents_ or whatever to show that we love each other. You understand that, right?”

Bucky nodded. “I get it. And I never doubted that you love me or would ever leave.”

“Good. ‘cause I _do_ love you, Buck, and I ain’t ever leaving. You’re stuck with me ‘til the end of time, pal.”

“ _Fantastic_. Will you pick a damn pizza already?”

“Okay, okay!” Steve picked up one of the already made boxes and slid it into the basket, turning to scan across the aises. “Anything else? We should probably get some chips and more cereal, oh, and milk.”

“And maybe a few beers so we can stay up playing _Until Dawn_. Did you ever play the _P.T._ trailer, Steve?”

“Oh, _God_ , I _know_ what that is, Buck. Stop fucking laughing, ass—” Steve hastily smacked Bucky’s chest, over and over again until he gripped his wrist.

“Ow ow _ow what!?_ ”

“Mm!” Steve’s eyes had gone fully wide as he pointed straight in front of him.

“What? The fuck are you—”

“ _Mmm!”_ He grabbed Bucky’s face and shoved him closer, angling his head. Then, he saw it. Walking down an aisle was, unmistakably, Tony fucking Stark who still made Bucky’s blood boil anytime he saw him (they honestly were friends, but they still had unresolved shit from high school that made it tense anytime they were around each other. Can’t really forgive a guy for breaking into your dad’s workplace and recoding its security system to A) change Tony’s password to something he _’d_ never guess— tonystark1safuck1nga55hole — and B) change Jarvis’ phrasing, so anytime the computer would great Tony, he’d only address him as ‘ _Good afternoon, dickwad_ ’. Mature? No. Funny? Yes. He deserved it, after being such a dick to them in middle school and shoving Steve in a locker once.)

But, walking beside Tony, holding his _hand_ wasn’t Pepper, like one would assume. No. It wasn’t his girlfriend of eight years, but instead the geeky kid from their AP chem class. Bruce Banner. And now they weren’t just blissfully strolling down the aisle together, but their lips were blissfully… exploring each others. It made Bucky’s head spin before he was screaming.

“SO THAT’S WHY HE TOLD ME TO SHUT UP FOR MAKING JOKES, ‘CAUSE I WAS RIGHT. THEY REALLY ARE HAVING AN AFFA—”

Steve dropped the basket to wrap both his hands around Bucky’s mouth. “Oh my _GOD,_  what the fuck is wrong with you!? They’re—”

Sure enough, Tony looked over his shoulder and Bucky pulled Steve down to the floor so they were crouching behind a display of muffins.

“Was I really that loud?”

“I think everyone in _Brooklyn_ just heard you, you actual idiot.”

“Awh, Steve. That’s a harsh thing to call your fiancé.”

“You’re my soon to be slave— I mean _husband_. I can call you whatever the hell I want now.”

“That how it works?”

“That’s how it works,” he grinned, kissing his cheek. “Are they still looking at us?”

Bucky shimmied himself up on his knees, peeking around the corner to… immediately come face to face with a crouching Stark, his lips flat.

“Hi there, Barnes.”

Bucky reached for Steve, tapping his face. “Abort, _abort_.”

Steve peeked around Bucky’s shoulder. “H-hi.”

“Steve.”

“What’re you uh, doin’ here, Anthony? Late night shopping? Butler not home to make you a three course meal?”

“We don’t have a _butler_ and it doesn’t matter why I’m here. What does matter is what you saw.”

“Saw?”

“Like see-saw?” Steve added.

“Monkey see, monkey do?”

“Saw, the movie—”

“—I hate both of you. I really do.”

“To be fair,” Bucky looked at Steve then back at Tony. “We hate ourselves too.”

“But, I love _you_ , Buck,” Steve whined.

“And I love _you_ too, sweetheart,” Bucky puckered his lips. “But, now we’re getting off topic,” Bucky slowly stood, matching Tony’s pace. He could see Steve picking up their basket and felt him loop their arms together. “What were we supposed to, or not, have seen?”

Tony clicked his tongue. “You’re wearing my patience _so_ thin, Barnes.”

“You were patient to begin with?”

“Tony,” all three of them looked over at Bruce, who was holding up a can of, what looked like baked beans, to him. “Is this okay, or— what-what’s with the party here? Oh, hi Steve. And Bucky.”

Steve awkwardly nodded at him, letting go of Bucky again to wave. Tony gawked at his hand.

“Dear lord, what is _that_?”

“What?” Steve’s brows knitted before he looked at his finger himself. “Oh! Yeah. I’m Mr. Barnes now.”

Bucky closed his eyes, but he knew he was smiling. He shook his head, looking between a very confused Tony and a more than curious Bruce. “We’re engaged. As of twenty five minutes ago.”

“Wow, congratulations to you both.”

“Thank you,” Steve pushed his face against Bucky’s shoulder. “It was so romantic, Bruce. He proposed to me in the parking lot and everything.”

Bucky’s nose twitched. “Had to be there. Was a truly magical moment.”

“Sounds great. Hey,” Tony turned to Steve, “can I talk to your boyfriend, or, fiance, husband… your _Bucky_ for one moment? Alone?”

“I’d rather we stay where there are witnesses.”

“Whatever you need to say to Buck, you can say it in front of me too.”

Bucky traced over Steve’s wrist. “That’s my boy.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Tony groaned, gesturing towards Bruce. “Go look at the tortillas and meet me up front, okay? I’ll text you when we’re done talking.”

“Okay, Tony,” Bruce nodded, leaning closer to him before he patted his cheek, pushing him away. Once Bruce left, Tony rounded the rack and gripped the collars of both of their jackets, tugging them towards an empty aisle; the chip aisle, funny enough. Exactly where they wanted to be. Except not with Tony strangling them.

“You say a word of this to Pepper and I will personally make your lives hell.”

“You don’t already do that…?” Bucky wiggled away from him, forcibly shoving his hand away from Steve.

“No. I’m more than pleasant to both of you. Nicer than I should be to _you,_ ” he scowled at Bucky.

“Tony,” Steve spoke up, “if you and Bruce like each other, why don’t you just… you know, break up with Pepper so you’re not being a giant fucking douche to multiple people all at once?”

Bucky nodded. “I was just kidding at Clint’s party. I really didn’t know you guys were—”

“I _can’t._ ”

“What?” they both parroted in unison.

“You’re not the only ones that got engaged within the past twenty four hours.”

“You… you proposed to Pepper, but you’re here at Whole Foods making out with mister science boy?”

“ _Shhh,_ ” Tony glared at him. “Not by choice.”

“Then, whose choice was it?” Steve asked.

“Who do you think? My _dad_. Pepper’s the CEO of Stark Industries, my dad loves her, he wouldn’t shut up about the fact that we’ve been dating this long and still haven’t gotten married. You seriously think I could go up to my dad and say, ‘Hey, I ended things with your star employee and, here’s my new boyfriend!’. He’d _kill_ me.”

“Why? Because you dumped Pepper, or because you’re seeing a man?” Bucky cocked his head.

“Second one, Sherlock.”

“That doesn’t make it okay for you to sneak behind Pepper’s back though, Tony.” Bucky glanced down at Steve and he could see a storm brewing in his eyes. The same look he’d given countless guys before he took a swing at them (and then that’s how Bucky usually wound up with a black eye, so he was mentally preparing himself already).

“I _know_ that. We never meant for this to happen.”

“Do you love him?”

“What is this, an interrogation?”

“Yeah,” Bucky added. “Steve’s right. Cheating is low even for you, man. So, answer his question.”

“Do I love Bruce?”

Steve nodded.

“I love Pepper.”

Steve snorted. “No you don’t. You wouldn’t be walking around holding someone else’s hand if you really loved Pepper. And, you’re ignoring that question, which makes it pretty obvious that you _do_ love him.”

Tony glanced away, pulling out his phone, grumbling to himself. He shoved it back in his pocket. “What do you know about love? Settled for the first guy that ever talked to you,” Tony rolled his eyes.

“ _Hey,_ ” Bucky growled. “Don’t project your bullshit onto us. Not our fault you’re miserable.”

“Then whose fault is it?”

“ _Yours_!” Steve laughed, incredulously. He glanced down at their pizza. “This is gonna be so cold by the time we get home.”

“ _Ugh_ , you’re right,” Bucky looked at Tony. “Look, we don’t gossip. What you’re doing is fuckin’ horrible, but her hearing this from _us_ would be even worse, and we’re not gonna break her heart like that. So, can we go now? We got stuff to do.”

“Yes. We’re very busy people.”

“Totally.”

“Absolutely.”

“Positively.”

“How do you do it?” Tony asked, flat.

“What?” Steve said.

“This,” he pointed at them with two fingers. “Get along. Be happy. Not want to curl up and cry when you’re around each other.”

“Uh… we’ve just worked on our relationship. A lot.”

“And we try to be as _honest_ as possible with each other. No one’s perfect but,” Steve’s eyes locked with Bucky’s, “completely hypothetical, but if Bucky decided he wanted to see someone else… sure it’d hurt, a lot. A lot a lot. But it’d be a billion times worse if he went behind my back and did it.”

Bucky kissed the side of his head. “Clint know you’re doing this?”

“No. And he won’t know."

“God, Nat would _kill_ you. In the literal sense, like, she’d actually murder you.”

“Tony,” Bucky looked over his shoulder, Bruce awkwardly fidgeting with his sleeves. “I thought Pepper already— I thought she knew. As in you weren’t _together_ still.”

“And that’s our cue to go,” Bucky tugged on Steve’s wrist, tossing a bag of chips into their basket. “You both have a _wonderful_ night. I know we sure will,” he clapped Tony on the shoulder. “Take care,” then he gave Bruce a pat to his neck, “you too.”

He dragged Steve towards the self checkout lane, tapping on the screen to get things started already, so they could _leave._

“Do you still want drinks?”

“Ah, _shit_ ,” Bucky scratched the back of his head. “You mind if I stop at that gas station that’s a few minutes from here?”

“Fine by me if that means we can get the hell out of here…”

“Okay, sweet,” he rubbed circles against the small of Steve’s back. “Why’s our life feel like a fuckin’ sitcom, for real?” he took the bag of chips from Steve, scanning them before shoving them inside a paper bag.

“Because it is.”

“Is it?”

“Why else would I constantly hear people laughing in my head?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Steve, which only made him snort, loud.

 

 

* * *

 

“This stuff makes me feel like a teenager all over again,” Bucky said in between sips of a Mikes Hard, swishing the bottle around. “Damn good though.”

“You drank that shit in high school?” Steve looked up at him. They were stretched out on the floor, cushions thrown about and coffee table moved out of the way (Steve saw the hole in the cushion, he didn’t forget. Only made him laugh though). Surrounding them was a bowl of chips, pack of Mike's Hard lemonade (which was mostly just empty bottles in a box now), their pizza and an assortment of PS4 games.

“Couple of times, when I was eighteen. Hey, are you going in circles, or… didn’t you already pass that rock ten times?” Bucky waved at their tv. After Steve had continuously complained about not being in the mood for a choose your own adventure game, and forced the controller into Bucky’s hands the second he heard that baby wailing in _P.T._ , they finally decided on something else to play, for longer than twenty minutes. _Shadow of the Colossus_ , one of Bucky’s favorites, and a true classic.

“Probably. Kinda zoning out a little,” he smirked at him.

“What, you getting tipsy, or is something on your mind?”

“Uh… both.”

Bucky laughed through his nose, shuffling closer. He threw his arm around Steve’s shoulders, shaking him. “What’s running through that wonderful brain of yours, Stevie?”

“Mostly thinking about what just happened to us.”

“At the store?”

“Yeah.”

“The Tony thing, you mean?”

“Yes. Not the ring. I love the ring, I love _you_ , I can’t wait to be your Mr. Barnes and get married with Elvis Presley.”

“How many of these have you had to drink, bud…” Bucky brushed his nose against his jaw.

“Three?”

“Jesus, Steve. Slow down, honey,” he laughed.

“I’m fineeee,” he whined. He set the controller down, tapping his fingers against a blanket. “I just don’t get it, why you’d ever cheat on someone.”

“I mean, it’s not like Tony came from a… background of love and nurture. He’s probably doing this to get back at his dad, no joke.”

“Oh my god, that actually makes _sense._  Because he _hates_ his dad.”

“Mhm,” Bucky hummed. “That, or he doesn’t want to admit to himself he’s in love with a nerd.”

“I’m in love with a nerd,” Steve whispered.

“What was that?”

“Nothin’. You know, you make fun of Bruce a lot, but he has, like, seven PHDs, and he’s the same age as you.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Improbable,” Steve raised his finger, “but it’s true. Look, it’s on his Wiki page and everything,” he pawed around for his phone, handing it to Bucky.

“He has a _Wiki page_?”

“He’s kinda incredibly famous, Buck. No one knows about gamma radiation like he does. Think he’s actually being awarded a Nobel prize soon."

“And— he hangs out with fuckin’ Clint, the guy who doesn’t do laundry for a month and shoves everything under the couch to make it look like he cleaned?”

“Famous people can hang out with losers too, y’know.”

“Funny you call him a loser, because he called _us_ losers when he was over here.”

“Oh, that asshole,” Steve leaned his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “Hey, Buck? Change of subject.”

“Wassit, Stevie?”

“Are you gonna call your mom?”

He cupped Steve’s hand. “In the morning.”

“You don’t want to right now?”

“No. I already have a headache, and _she’s_ going to scream. Not only her, but Bec will too. And then Bec’s gonna call up all her friends and _they’re_ all gonna call us, screaming even louder.”

“What did I sign up for?”

“No take backsies now, babe.”

“That movie sucked.”

 

“ _Babe_? Ain’t that the one that’s like Charlotte's Web, except without the spider and shit?”

“Pretty much.”

“God, now I want bacon.”

Steve looked at him, licking over his teeth. “You’re a horrible person.”

“Hey, well, what’s new?”

Steve leaned forward, kissing him. “And that’s why I love you, so much.”

“Uh… thanks. I love you too, Stevie. Now, focus,” he handed the controller back to Steve. “Stop thinking about pigs and PHDs and how much of a bad boy I am, and find Gaius.”

“You’re such a hot bad boy though— wait, find _what_?”

“The colossus, Steve,” he snapped his fingers, “Andele, andele!”

“Don’t yell at me in _Spanish_.”

“You’d rather me yell at you in English?”

 

“Or, not yell at all and,” he let the controller fall from his hands again before he was bunching up the collar of Bucky’s shirt, tugging him closer until they were too enveloped in each other to care about the game anymore. Sneaky, Steve.

 

* * *

 

“Hi, uh, Ms. Barnes?”

Bucky threw the covers over them both. He was sick of squinting at Steve and was too damn tired to get up and close the blinds.

“ _Put it on speaker,_ ” Bucky whispered, pinching him.

“ _I don’t know how!”_

“ _The_ — _give me_ that,” he pressed the speaker button on the screen, laying the phone flat down on their bed.

“Steven! Sweetheart, how are you? Becca was actually thinking about stopping by today with some homemade mashed potatoes and lemon drop soup.”

Bucky nodded at him.

“Oh, uh, sure. We’re both gonna be home all day. I’m okay, hanging in there. Buck’s been a lifesaver, that’s for sure.”

“Awh, that’s good to hear. He’s been treating you well?”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Yes. Very well. He’s been amazing,” Steve quickly shuffled forward to kiss him. “Actually, you remember that knitting circle my mom use to go to, at that sewing craft center place around here?”

“Of course. I went with her a few times.”

“Yeah. Uh, well, we stopped by there last night. It was pretty fun, mostly all of the same gals. Peggy’s cousin works there too.”

“That’s wonderful you’re both getting out and doing fun things.”

“Yeah, it is. We also got pizza last night and ran into Tony after Bucky proposed to me, and I said yes. How’s Reb—”

Bucky immediately picked up his phone, scrambling for the volume buttons. It was worse than he thought, way worse. Like a goddamn raptor screeching. And now his headache was back, in full force.

“They’re _what!?”_ he could hear Rebecca’s shrill shrieking in the background, before she was shouting through the speaker. “You’re _engaged?_ ”

“Well, I think that’s technically what the definition of saying yes to a proposal is, Bec,” Bucky added.

“Ma, ma _no,_ forget the _soup_ , let’s just go,” Rebecca pulled away from the phone and he could hear his mom mumbling, unable to make out her words.

“We’re coming over. No ‘if, ands, or buts’ about it.”

“ _But_ , Bec, the place is a mess.”

“I don’t _care_ , my brother is _engaged_. Did you get him a nice ring?”

“It’s beautiful, Becca,” Steve said.

“Oh my god, wait ‘til Lucy hears about this.”

“Okay, but, can you tell your little friends _not_ to blow up our phones? We don’t wanna make a huge deal over this.”

“But, you’re _engage_ —”

“Yes, and we’re gonna get married at the courthouse, or something like that, and keep things on the small scale.”

“When?”

Bucky looked at Steve, and he shrugged. “Not for awhile, Bec. We haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

“ _Mom!”_ Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. Why. Why did he let Steve convince him into calling them. “Okay, we’re about to head out. I’m so excited for you guys. Awh, I hope that can be me and Charles one day.”

Bucky huffed. “One thing at a time, Bec.”

“Oh, I know, but I can fantasize about the future.”

“You sure can. ‘Kay, we’re hanging up now, see you soon.”

“Bye!”

Bucky tapped the end call button, throwing his face against the mattress. He felt Steve rubbing his back. “Should we just mass text Nat and Peg and everyone else?”

“Text them with words, or a photo?”

 

“Photo.” Bucky turned his head. “Smart man. That’s why I’m marrying you, Steve. I’m a goddamn idiot without you.”

“That’s true…”

He flicked Steve’s cheek, which only got him laughing, and Bucky pushing him over onto his back, kissing him. “In a bit though. We got what, thirty minutes?”

“Fifteen, to be safe.”

“‘Kay, bet. That’s doable.”

“You’re _wasting time_ ,” Steve wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling Bucky closer.

 

* * *

 


	13. Trick or Treating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who said trick or treating was just for kids? Well, technically Clint, Steve, Tony and Bucky were all kids. Adult kids.
> 
> Also known as the one where the guys use Steve's height to their advantage to swindle an unsuspecting apartment complex out of their candy and Bucky tries to force himself to hate Stark a little less than usual, for Steve.

* * *

 

 

A week. That’s how long the buzz had managed to last around the excitement of Bucky and Steve _finally_ getting engaged before they were forgotten in the dust only to be outshined by drama. Tony’s drama, which was nothing new. They were expecting that, to be perfectly honest. And, even though they were the center of all their friend’s attention for only a week, it was a very _long_ week at that. They were more than happy for it to be over.

They’d sent a photo of Steve’s ring to their group chat, and mutuals they hadn’t talked to in _years_ started blowing up their phones with _‘Congratulations!’_ and ‘ _Took you long enough’_ s.

Bucky’s sister didn’t listen to his requests either; after they’d rushed over and his mom almost passed out from seeing Steve with a ring on his finger, Becca did exactly what Bucky told her explicitly not to do. She texted _all_ of her friends, even Charles’ sister, with photos of them and the amount of calls they were getting throughout the days made Steve contemplate cutting their plans off completely. Bucky would’ve been fine with that too. More than fine.

To make it worse, his mom _insisted_ they face timed with his grandmother, and his aunt (all three of them). Without letting him even comb his hair first, so he heard the best of it.

They were so dead tired by the end of the day, they decided to call it a night early and fell asleep to _The Goonies,_ and for Bucky, the sound of Steve’s raspy breathing.

The only good thing that came from the chaos of being ‘newly engaged’ was being able to milk that statement to get free shit. Like, even though they wouldn’t be getting married for, probably, another year or something, they’d decided to go cake tasting _just_ for the free samples, _and_ because they had nothing better to do with their time.

They’d also gotten a pair of frappuccinos and cookies on the house when one of the baristas at their local Starbucks (that they didn’t go to _that_ often, only when they’d run out of their own coffee) noticed Steve’s new accessory.

So, exactly a week later and Bucky hesitantly picked up his phone. It was six in the morning, he had to go back to work that day, and he was _not_ in the mood for any loud screeching or long conversations about flower arrangements (and then having to explain for the billionth time they weren’t having a traditional wedding).

Instead of being Lucy or his grandma, it was Clint. Who was frantically crying about how Tony just showed up at their house with a crap ton of boxes and now Natasha was upset with _him_ because Tony wouldn’t explain why he was there (though, Bucky knew damn well why he was there) and she didn’t want a permanent house guest. It was hard enough dealing with Bucky and Steve when they stayed over.

They’d kept up their side of the bargain. It made Bucky feel like shit and haunted Steve in his sleep, but they didn’t mention a word to Pepper, or Clint, _or_ Natasha, for that matter. They kept their lips shut and tried to forget about that whole situation. Bucky’d tried recreating one of those memory wipers from _Men in Black_ , but… it only ended up making Steve blind in one eye for half an hour.

As Clint was rambling on and on about how he had no clue what to do, and Steve was slowly waking up, wiggling against Bucky’s side, he really contemplated just telling him. He hated drama. More specifically, being put in the middle of drama that really shouldn't have existed. And, it didn’t matter anymore anyways— he showed up at their house with a bunch of boxes, clearly there was only one explanation for that: Pepper kicked him out.

And, Bucky was right, because the next day, Steve shoved his phone against Bucky’s face. On the front page of, well, ten different news sites, including the Huffington Post, were articles with varying titles of, essentially, ‘ _son of Howard Stark caught cheating and breaks up with Stark Industries CEO, Pepper Potts_ ’. It was almost humorous to him, the karma finally catching up with Tony, but then it became very unfunny when they found out just how much Tony’s life had been turned upside down.

See, after that night of the very awkward encounter in Whole Foods, while Steve and Bucky were happily making out in their comfort of their own home, Bruce had driven straight to Tony’s house to tell Pepper everything. He came clean about how close him and Tony had gotten, how far they’d gone (which wasn’t very far, they’d honestly been taking things slow, well, after Tony had apparently told Bruce he really, _really_ liked him).

Because of that, Pepper told him to ‘get the fuck out’ (and she never curses, so that meant she was pissed) and threw all of his shit outside. His father also ended up firing him from working at Stark Industries, so now he was homeless _and_ jobless, _and and_ Bruce wouldn’t even talk to him anymore.

 _And_ Bucky wouldn’t give any shits about this if he hadn’t been sitting right across from Tony as he swirled around a spoon in his bowl of cereal. No idea how it happened, but they ended up allowing themselves to get roped into Clint’s stupid idea of fun on Halloween, and stayed at his house the night before.

Their place was overcrowded, so they got stuck with the foldout couch that was hardly big enough for two people. Bucky was used to Steve sleeping on top of him, but it was still uncomfortable, to say the least. This whole situation was uncomfortable, and now Tony wouldn’t stop _staring at him_ and it made him grind his teeth.

Until he felt Steve’s hand squeezing his own, and he tried to relax. Under his breath, he mumbled, “you deserve this. Every last bit of it.”

“Thank you, Barnes. I appreciate your support,” Tony nodded, lolling his head in the direction of their tv. Clint had put on _The Great Pumpkin_ earlier because he said Lucky loved the Peanuts (he wasn’t wrong, the dog had plopped himself down the minute Clint slid the DVD in).

“Jackass,” Bucky murmured into his cereal.

“ _Alright,_ ” Clint peaked his head out from the kitchen, a styrofoam container in one of his hands. “New rule. If we’re all gonna be within breathing proximity of each other, we need to at least _try_ to get along.”

Bucky lazily followed Natasha’s movements as she walked down the stairs, turning a sharp corner. “Nat’s been cussing out Tony all morning though. She exempt from that rule?”

“ _No_ ,” Clint pulled a leftover out of the box; Bucky couldn’t tell what the hell he was eating, but it looked gross. “But, she gets more of a pass than you.”

“ _What!?”_ Bucky squeaked, nearly knocking over his bowl. Tony let out a breathy huff as Steve rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder, softly chuckling. He whispered, “ _Inside voice, Buck_.”

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up,” then he looked back at Clint, “whys Nat get a pass? Is it ‘cause she’s your fiance?”

“Yes,” Clint gave him a thumbs up. “That’s _exactly_ why.”

“So unfair.” Bucky pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth.”Hey, hypothetically, if I were to be your fiance, would I get a free pass to cuss Stark out then?”

Clint narrowed his eyes right as Steve let out a loud snort. “What’re you getting at, Barnes?”

“I’ll trade you. Uh, I’ll be your new Nat, and she can be Steve’s me. Promise I’ll be a good wife to you, Clint. I’ll dye my hair red and everything.”

“Do I get _any_ say in this?” Steve sucked in his lips.

“Nope. Sorry darling, it’s official now,” he kissed the side of Steve’s head. “I’m Clint’s new fianatasha, so I’m legally allowed to talk shit about Tony. Here we go,” Bucky raised his brows at the brunet sitting across from him. “Tony, you’re a cun—”

“I’m breaking up with you,” Clint called as he went back inside the kitchen. Bucky could hear him rummaging through the cabinets.

“Ditto,” Steve quietly added. Bucky flicked his cheek, which only made Steve smack him back, and then this embarrassing play fight continued until Tony loudly cleared his throat, both of them staring at him.

“If you two could stop being stupid for _one_ minute, we should probably discuss what we’re doing tonight.”

“Oh, what? You mean dressing Steve up like a kid to swindle candy outta adults our age? Which totally isn’t a stupid fucking plan or anyth—”

Tony cut him off. “Yep. That’s the one. Also, totally _not_ stupid, by the way.”

“Except it _is_. You’re making me _exploit_ my fiance for _shitty candy._ ”

“Candy’s never shitty,” Clint added from the background.

“I mean, I don’t really care anymore, Buck. I like candy too…”

“Oh my God, Stevie, I’ll _buy_ you ten bags of candy.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

“That’s the spirit!” Tony exclaimed. Bucky threw his head back in defeat. Why did he even bother hanging out with these people (Steve included, sometimes).

Behind him, Natasha’s face slowly came into focus as she stared down at him, her hands placed either side of his shoulders. “What’re we talking about here?”

He shook his head, groaning, “Really, really dumb shit,” and then he mouthed to her, “ _ubey menya_ ,” which got Nat smirking to the point that she almost cracked and started laughing.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Steve glaring at him. He’d never taken Russian himself, but, of course since he was an incredibly talented person, talented to that point that it made Bucky want to scream from the top of a hill, he had a natural knack for language. There were certain phrases that Bucky’d said enough that Steve had memorized what they meant by heart (some of these phrases being ‘I love you’, ‘Fuck you’, and ‘Put me out of my misery’.)

“He’s not wrong,” Steve said.

“Are you going to elaborate on that, or is that all I get?”

Bucky straightened his posture, swirling around his spoon, half tempted to flick a piece of soggy cereal at Tony’s annoying forehead. But, he didn’t. He was trying to behave. “Your boy’s making my boy dress up as a kid later tonight so we can, _maybe_ , score some free candy.”

As Clint walked over to join them with two cups of steaming coffee, Natasha said to him, “That reminds me, can you actually pick up some more candy before you guys do anything?”

“What happened to ours?”

“Uh, sorry,” Bucky looked away, feeling his ears tingle. Steve slowly rubbed his leg. What would he ever do without Steve… “Nat, _why’re_ you letting him do this?”

“Quit being such a party pooper, Barnes. Your lack of enthusiasm is making me want to sob,” Clint scoffed into his mug.

“Think it’d be good for all of you to get out,” Natasha said with a nod.

“Are you coming with?” Tony looked at her with a raised brow.

“Oh, _no_ ,” she finally laughed. “I’m gonna kick back with the dog, maybe see if Pep— some of the girls want to come over for wine and a scary movie.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You’re still friends with her, I get it. You don’t have to censor her name, I can take it.”

“Can I stay with you?” Bucky asked Natasha, hopeful, but then Steve immediately said a stern, “No.”

“You gotta be the chauffeur to our getaway vehicle anyways,” Clint added.

“Of _course_. Maybe I should quit my job and just become a full time Uber driver since I already do that, for free.”

“Go for it, Buck.” Bucky glanced at Steve, trying to bite back his smile. His smile did fade for real though when Tony starting impatiently tapping his fingers against the table. That sound was like metal scraping together for Bucky; oh, it drove his nerves wild.

“What time did you guys want to go, anyways?”

“ _Where_ are we even going?”

“I ‘unno. Know of any cul de sacs or townhomes around here?” Clint dryly asked.

“Steve’s old place is near a townhome community thing.”

“Great! Then, we’ll go there. Maybe around six, or seven?”

“What’re we supposed to do until then?”

Bucky locked eyes with Tony. “I never got around to actually getting a proper costume together.”

“What, you ain’t gonna be a billionaire, like last time?”

“ _No_ . I wouldn’t know what box that suit is tucked away in anyways, and I’m _not_ about to start organizing.”

“Oooh, Buck, we could get matching costumes,” Steve tugged on his arm.

“We already _do_ have matching costumes, Steve. A bunch of them.”

“Yeah, but not for all four of us.”

“You guys could dress as a garage band. Did you know Clint’s a _master_ at the electric triangle?”

Clint shoved Natasha. “Hey, don’t mock me! I am _the_ triangle master.”

Tony sighed. “We do have enough people to form a Kiss cover band.”

“Oh, hell yeah. I’d rock a pair of leather pants.”

“Sure you would, Barton.”

Steve leaned closer to Bucky, muttering to him, “ohmygod Buck, we could be… Ariel and Eric.”

Bucky nearly slammed his head against the table. “What about wearing the shit we packed?”

“That’s not fuuuuun—”

Bucky pinched his side. “Stop whining, you baby.”

“It’s settled then. Grocery store then Halloween store. Let’s go, everyone get up.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “Floor just swallow me up, I’m begging you.”

  


* * *

 

 

Their impromptu outing _did_ serve as a great time waster, because before they knew it, the sun was starting to disguise itself behind the clouds and kids were beginning to rush out from their homes, excitedly cheering as they prepared to hit the candy jackpots.

But, now Bucky was feeling like he could chug six red bulls and still be exhausted. They’d spent way too much time at the grocery store, getting sidetracked anytime they made it a step closer to the Halloween aisle. And then, they bumped into someone that knew Tony, which basically turned into them yelling at Tony in the middle of the store, putting him in his place as the others desperately tried to disassociate themselves from the conversation.

When they’d _finally_ gotten to the costume store, they were still at a loss for ideas of what they could do that wouldn’t burn a hole in their wallets (Bucky’s specifically) and wasn’t incredibly overdone. As much as Bucky and Steve loved the _Ghostbusters_ , he knew everyone else was going to be sporting those beige jumpsuits as well.

He’d tried to convince everyone to just do something from _Star Wars_ so they could just, you know, wear what they’d already packed and brought to Clint’s house. But then, Steve snapped his fingers and told them his ingenious idea: “ _Why not take some inspiration from Lucky’s favorite show and go with an old classic?_ ”

Tony ended up buying a Snoopy onesie (his punishment, they all decided), and for everyone else, they went thrifting and spent less than ten dollars in total to get everything they needed. A white sheet for Steve that they’d later draw a million black circles on (this way he could also hide his face), a plain red shirt and blue blanket for Bucky, and a striped purple shirt for Clint that looked like something straight out of his own closet.

Now, they were waiting for them to come out to the car. It felt like the first time Bucky got to be alone with Steve all day, and so he took advantage of that moment by cupping the side of his neck, gripping his fingers through his hair as he pulled him closer, into a soft kiss. He’d had his blanket tossed over his shoulder, atop his leather jacket (not canon, he knew that, but it was still pretty nippy out).

“I _still_ think what we’re doing is beyond fuckng stupid, but I’m glad we’re at least out and doing something.”

“I’m glad too, Buck. And, hey, if we don’t get home super late tonight… maybe we can play more _Until Dawn_. Just maybe.”

“You know how to make me the happiest man in the world, Steve,” he leaned in to give him another kiss, Steve wrapping his arms around his neck when he heard the front door squeak.

“Alright, kids. Don’t make me get the hose out.”

“Oh, fuck of—” Bucky was about to groan for the millionth time that evening and roll his eyes to the point of giving himself a headache, until he turned his head and had to suck in his lips, snorting loudly. Steve traced his eyes, and he wasn’t as subtle. Instead, Steve burst out into laughter at the sight of Tony wearing a white onesie with a hood shaped like Snoopy’s face, a red dog collar around his neck.

“Laugh it up. Now’s your chance.”

“That’s such a look,” Bucky reached for his phone, quickly snapping a photo of him. “Holy shit, that’s so going on Facebook.”

“Great. Can’t wait,” Tony mumbled through grit teeth.

“Wait, come here,” he gestured to the pair as he held up his phone in front of them. Tony was standing behind them with the grumpiest expression, Clint resting his head in between Steve and Bucky’s. “So beautiful.”

“We need to get that framed,” Steve said.

“Can I get a copy of that too?” Clint asked.

“For sure. _Everyone_ can get a copy of that.” Bucky stepped away from Steve to round to the other side, opening the door. He folded his arms across the roof of his car. “So, are we all ready to go?”

“Lemme just say bye to Nat really quick then we can go.”

“Aight, cool,” Bucky looked at Steve. He was holding his ghost costume, folded up neatly into a square. “Honey, are you gonna be able to even see outta that thing…?”

“No,” he laughed. “S’why I’m gonna just cling to you all night.”

“Could always carry you on my shoulders too, _little man_.” Steve stuck his tongue out at Bucky, and he replicated his face.

Tony sighed, loud, which got Bucky narrowing his eyes at him. “What’s the problem now?”

“You. You are.”

“Then fucking leave. Don’t you have somewhere else you could go? Sure you got hundreds of friends at your disposal.”

“See, Barnes, you’re assuming things about me again. Which you do, a lot. I don’t _have_ other friends. Rhodey’s pissed at me, Happy’s trying to stay as far away from this mess as possible, and now if Bruce never talks to me again, which is very likely, and probably _very_ smart, that leaves me with you two, and,” he waved towards Clint, “him.”

That came as a surprise to Bucky, and he felt his expression softening. Slowly, but surely. He scratched at his chin. “I don’t actually hate you, you know.”

Steve added, “There’s all this unneeded tension between us ‘cause you use to be a dick to us in school, Tony. Remember when we all used to be besties?”

“I remember. And,” he sighed, closing his eyes, “I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry I was an asshole and hid a massive stack of Playboys in your locker, James, so you would get expelled—”

“You _what_?” Bucky tightened his fists.

“Alright, let’s go. Nat said she just texted Pepper, so we should probably scram,” he looked between them. “Why’s Jay looking like he wants to go on a killing spree?”

“Because Anthony’s a giant fucking douche, s’why.”

“I thought we moved past that.”

“Awh, Jay,” Clint grabbed Tony’s chin, squishing his cheeks. “How could you be so rude to this adorable puppy?”

“He’s _not_ adorable.”

“Buck,” Steve looked at him. “Don’t forget about Clint’s rule from earlier. Please, just try to get along. For me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “ _Only_ for you, Steve.”

“I think you guys should hug it out.”

“Oh lord,” Tony said under his breath.

“Yeah, _no_. I’m allergic to hugs.”

“You hugged me like, five minutes ago, Buck.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that. I’m allergic to anyone that isn’t Steve.”

Tony groaned, walking over to Bucky. “Insufferable.”

“Oh Stark, that’s no way to talk about yourself.” He was worrying his lip to the point that he was confident he broke skin. As Tony approached him with open arms, he felt a chilling shiver ripple down his spine. He was full of hesitation at first, letting himself be hugged, but as Tony held onto him tighter like a boa constrictor, he finally reciprocated the sentiment.

“Hurry, Jesus Christ, Clint, you need to get a photo of this.”

“Never thought I’d live to see this day…” Bucky winced at the blinding flash from Clint’s phone.

“So, you’re really engaged, huh?” Tony said low.

Bucky furrowed his brows. “Yep.”

Tony looked at him expectantly.

Bucky huffed. “Whatever we do, you’ll be there.”

Tony smiled, so faint you could hardly tell, but it was there.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Now Bucky was in a situation completely opposite than when they’d went to the apple orchard. Everyone was talking so much he could hardly focus on the road. It made his head feel like it was going to spin off.

Tony and Clint were sitting in the backseat, Steve obviously sitting shotgun. They’d all crammed into his car— it probably would’ve been smarter to take Clint’s, since it was a bit roomier, but the thing also made a horrendous noise when it started up. So, there was that.

He could see Tony turning to Clint. “Did you see the season finale of _Dog Cops_ last week?”

“Oh!” Steve craned his neck, “the one where Sargent Whiskers—”

“Alala! Spoilers!” He watched Clint’s reflection as he waved his hands before covering his ears. “No, I haven’t seen any of the new season yet. We don’t have cable and obviously the season four box set ain’t out yet.”

“You still buy DVDs?” Tony scoffed.

“The hell’s wrong with DVDs?” Bucky said. “We don’t have cable either, but you know, you can watch all that shit online. S’how Steve watches it.”

“You can?”

“Wow. How old are you, Barton? Sometimes you remind me of my grandfather.”

“Dude, piss off. Some of us actually have jobs we gotta go to during the day. Not all of us are fortunate enough to mooch off of daddy’s money and get all the latest tech.”

“I don’t mooch off of dad’s money. Anymore. He canceled all of my credit cards.”

“Spoiled rich bitch,” Bucky tried to bite his tongue. Steve pinched him. He knew he was supposed to try to get along with him, but, hey, baby steps.

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“And now I can see why Nat _really_ didn’t want to come with us,” Steve said.

“I didn’t want to come with us either,” Bucky grumbled.

“Oh sweetheart, cheer up. It’s _Halloween_ ,” Steve squeezed his knee.

“Not like you wanted to come either. Fuckin’ screamed at me last night when I told you we were going to Clint’s house.”

“That might be true—”

“It is.”

“ _But_ , now that we’re here, might as well try to enjoy it.”

“You should listen to him, Bucky. Your boy is smart. A lot smarter than you.”

“I could crash us into that building right now and this hell would be over. I really could.”

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve shook his head. “Deep breaths.”

Bucky inhaled loudly. “Deep breaths, right. Thanks Stevie.”

“Don’t forget to exhale.”

“Right, deep breaths and exhale,” Bucky pushed out all of the air he had in his lungs. “Thanks sweetie.”

“D’you think think is gonna actually work?” Clint asked.

“I mean, if no one looks under Steve’s sheet, sure. But, why aren’t we just— I don’t know, going to a bar instead?”

“Maybe after we can. But, this is way more fun though, you gotta admit it, Barnes. This is… it’s literal trick or treating. Oh man, dude, can you swing by CVS to pick up a coupla rolls of toilet paper?”

“What are you, five?” Bucky sneered.

“Eggs are better. Egging is _way_ more fun,” Steve added, to which Bucky looked at him for a long minute. “Don’t look at me like that. We use to be quite the rebels back in our younger years.”

“Some more than others,” Bucky coughed. “Pumpkin boy.”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Steve groaned.

“What?”

“Nothin’. And no, we’re already here. So, no toilet paper, or _eggs_.” They were pulling into a residential area, a few blocks from where Steve grew up. Bucky twisted around, looking over his shoulder for somewhere to park. “Pick five houses you wanna go to. Then after that, I’m in charge and I’m taking us somewhere not fucking ridiculous.”

“What’re you, our dad?” Clint said, deadpan.

“Yes. I’m everyone’s father tonight.”

“Only I get to call him daddy though,” it was like those words slipped out of Steve’s mouth, because he even looked surprised himself. But Bucky took that opportunity to wink at him, his face deeply flushing.

“I think I’m gonna puke. Dad, let me _out._ ”

“Just throw up on the dog if you need to,” he turned off the engine, shoving his keys into his pocket.

“That’s animal cruelty,” Tony flatly stated.

“Should’ve put you up for adoption,” Bucky craned his neck. “Both of you, one house each. Steve can pick two.”

Clint’s mouth fell open. “That’s bullshit!”

“ _Language._ ”

“What about that one?” Bucky tried to follow where Tony was gesturing, until he saw that he was pointing at a massive apartment complex, towering over every other building around it, far off in the distance and looking extremely fancy.

“Uh, no. That’s outta bounds. Pick one around here.”

“Could probably get a lot of candy from an apartment complex though.”

“He’s right, Buck.”

“Assuming if we could even get in.”

Then, Steve grinned devilishly. “I got an idea. C’mon Buck, let’s go over there.”

He threw his head back. “ _Fine_.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hi,” Steve cheerfully said as they stood around the front desk. This apartment place was so fancy, they had an indoor parking structure attached to it (that was a pain in the ass to get into, but they managed). This made Bucky and Steve’s complex look incredibly bleak in comparison; in the lobby, the flooring was made of a washed over marble, a gold plated elevator a bit further back and a fucking fountain of cupid spitting water smack dab in the center.

Of course a place like this would have a front desk with a security guard that looked like he was two hundred pounds of rippling muscle. But, they’d gotten this far. They could defeat this boss level and claim their rewards.

Steve was putting on his best act, forcing his voice up a pitch higher than normal. Disguised under his sheet, it seemed like their plan… might actually work.“We’re here to trick or treat. Can we go up?”

The guard looked at them, his eyes shifty and expression unchanging. “How old are you?”

“He’s our little brother. See, we’re all going off to college next year, so this is the last time we get to do the trick or treating stuff together,” Clint said.

“How old—”

“C’mon man, please? We live in a really shitty area and our parents had to work the whole day and we ain’t got enough money to buy little Jimmy here candy ourselves,” Bucky tried to reason.

He looked them all up and down once more before staring down at something on his desk. Finally, he looked up again, meeting Bucky in the eyes as he gestured behind himself. “They’re having a party for all the kids in the lounge. Think they’re doing a costume contest, carving pumpkins, giving out candy.”

“And, which way is that?” Tony asked.

“Down the hall, to the left.”

Bucky clapped his hands either side of Steve’s shoulders, starting to lead him that way. “Thank you.”

“Thank you!” Steve chimed in.

“Happy Halloween,” Clint said.

As they started walking down the hall, Bucky quietly snorted, leaning closer to where he knew Steve’s ear was. “Holy shit. You really _are_ a good actor, buddy.”

“I told youuuu.”

Clint bumped into Bucky’s side. “Wonder if they have any pumpkin pie. Man, I’m hungry.”

“He said something about a costume contest too. Bet you a hundred bucks, that I don’t have anymore, we could win,” Tony said.

“I hope the prize is candy,” Steve added.

“Yeah. Let’s win and crush the dreams of the actual kids that _actually_ live here.” As they got closer, they could hear a handful of people talking, pop music playing in the background as they reached the end of the hall. They all peered inside; the room was pretty large, almost the size of their own apartment.

Decorated on the walls were pumpkin cutouts, streamers taped across the edges of the ceiling, a combination of purple and ( _ugh)_ orange. And then the part they all focused on: a buffet style table loaded with finger foods and a bowl of cider.

“Alright, boys. I see free food and a crap ton of candy. I think we can call this a success.”

“If we don’t get caught,” Bucky glared at Clint. “Act normal.”

“Normal. Oh, I’ll be so normal, you’ll be amazed at how normal I can be. You’ll have to contact Oxford and ask them to change the definition of normal to ‘Clint Barton’.”

Bucky clicked his tongue. “Yeah, this is all going to go to shit. Be prepared to book it.”

Steve reached for Bucky’s hand, tugging him inside. “I still can’t see a thing.”

“Honey,” he leaned closer, “just take it off, you don’t gotta pretend to be a kid anymore. Bet we can just make a cover story that we recently moved i—”

“Hello!” Before they could get any further inside, a woman dressed as a very blase witch (really all she had on that was remotely witch like was a pointy hat and a black dress) greeted them. “Aww, the Peanuts Gang! How creative.”

“Thanks,” Clint grinned. “My idea.”

“It was _not_ ,” Bucky shook his head as he let go of Steve’s hand to grab him by the shoulder instead.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you folks around here before. Are you new to the building?”

“Area, actually,” new plan. Sorry Steve. “Moved here a coupla months ago,” Bucky said. “We live across the street, but,” he waved to Tony, “this person he’s been seeing lives here and said there was a party going on.”

“And, we heard something about a costume contest,” Clint added.

“Oh, well, welcome! There is supposed to be a contest in about half an hour, but we do require each group to have a _child_ with them.”

“I know someone that _acts_ like a child,” Bucky said under his breath before Tony was nudging Steve, patting the top of his head. “He is. A kid, I mean.”

“He’s our brother,” Clint said. Then he pointed to Bucky. “That’s our dad.”

Bucky’s eyes almost rolled to the back of his head, but he had to stop himself. This lady was already looking at him like he’d grown three heads, he didn’t want to make this situation even worse, which was possible, knowing them.

“Oh my,” she said after a long moment, smiling, “You look very good for your age.”

Tony and Clint both snorted behind him.

“Thanks,” he grumbled.

“Hey,” Clint interjected, “do you have any pumpkin pie?”

“Yes,” she smiled, walking them over to the buffet. “We have mashed potatoes, made by our resident of the month Sally, turkey, homemade pumpkin pie, apple cider straight from the local mills, and feel free to help yourselves to some candy too. We have a bunch of bags in the back, so don’t worry about how much you take.”

He felt Clint shaking him. “We hit the jackpot, buddy,” he said as she turned to go greet someone else.

“Thanks dad for bringing us here.”

“Yeah, thanks dad,” Clint said as he leaned in to kiss his cheek, Tony kissing him on the other side (which made Bucky physically cringe). Steve quickly yanked back the sheet to look at them both, looking visibly upset, which made the corners of Bucky’s mouth pull down.

“Guys, knock it off. I hate it when Nat does that too.”

“Steve, _relax_. You’re marrying the guy.”

Steve looked away, sighing.

“Stevie,” he looked at him with a smile, “c’mon,” he rubbed his back, “let’s get some candy while these two stuff their faces, which’ll hopefully get them to shut up for once.”

“I’m not even gonna take offense to that. God, I’m so hungry I’m drooling,” Clint said as he scooped up a ball of mashed potatoes.

Steve reached into the plastic bowl that was shaped like a witch’s cauldron, grabbing a handful and dumping it into the rucksack they brought with them. Rather than the usual sweet tarts or crappy hard candies that no one liked, they actually had pieces of Dove chocolates and ring pops. Guess this was all sort of worth it…

Suddenly, Bucky felt a tap on his shoulder, hearing a very familiar voice. “James! What a surprise to see you here!”

“ _Shit_ ,” Steve gasped as he quickly tugged the sheet back down. It was that Carly, Karmen…. Karen! That was the one. Karen lady from the knitting group. Of course, just to make their night even crazier.

“Hi,” he said with a fake smile.

“How are you? How’s your,” she nudged him, “fiance?”

His smile grew more genuine. “I’m good. He’s doing okay too. Loves his ring.”

“How wonderful. I’m so happy for you two. Say, where is Steven?”

“Where’s who?” Clint asked through a mouthful of pie. Bucky wrinkled his nose.

“Jesus, don’t talk with your mouth full. That’s gross.”

“That’s what I told him, but he doesn’t listen,” Tony looked at Karen then back at Bucky. “Is this a friend of yours?”

He nodded. “Friend of Sarah’s, rather. But, yeah.” He gestured between them. “Karme— _Karen_ , these are our friends from way back.”

“Stark,” Tony said as he shook her hand.

“You’re the one from the papers.”

Tony sucked in a sharp breath. “Yep, and Time Magazine did a five page spread on me last month too. Check that out, why don’t you. It’s pretty groundbreaking.”

Clint reached over him to grab her hand. “I’m Clint,” he said with a smile, then gestured to Steve. “And that’s my son, Piet.” Steve didn’t say anything but nod.

“Pleasure to meet you all,” she said. “What a surprise to run into you here. I only came down to pick up some candy for my grandson.”

“Yeah, what a surprise indeed.”

She looked towards the door. “Will we be seeing you again next week?”

“For sure. Stevie really wants to go back. Sorry we couldn’t make it last week. He’s just— I mean he’s doing good, but it’s still been hard for us to get out of the house.”

“You don’t need to apologize, James. Please tell him I said hello. See you around.”

“Bye,” he waved, and then that’s when Steve finally spoke, getting Bucky to chuckle. “ _Fuck_ , that was awkward.”

“This whole situation is awkward, Steve. Do you guys seriously want to stay for the dumb contest thing, or can we just go?”

“Depends what the prize is,” Clint said as he scanned the room, until he pointed with his fork at another table. “ _Trophies_.”

“They have trophies?” Steve asked.

Bucky grabbed his chin over the fabric and moved his head to face that direction. “That way, Steve. Why do we need a _trophy_ though?”

Tony squinted. “Looks like it’s more than just a trophy.”

“Wait, lemme,” Clint looked around before scurrying over to scan the table, shuffling back to their group. “They have _gift cards._ ”

“To where?”

“Coldstone, iHop, and Toys R Us.”

“Ain’t Toys R Us going out of business?”

Clint nodded. “Yeah. Which means big ass sales.”

“Buck, they sell that really nice Alien queen figure you want there.”

Bucky licked over his front teeth. “How much the Toys R Us card for?”

“Looked like twenty five or something.”

“First place, I’m guessing?”

“Yep.”

He huffed. “Fine. Let’s get this bread. You should all know we’re horrible, _horrible_ people though.”

“Noted,” Tony, Steve and Clint all said in unison.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Okay, alright, hustle, oh my God, I think they’re onto us.  _Hustle, go go go,_ ” Bucky said as he clutched their first place trophy in the crux of his elbow, sliding the gift card into his pocket as they booked it down the hall.

“Going as fast as I can, man!” Clint yelled. Bucky looked behind them; they were already halfway out of there, but he could see that same witch lady on the phone with, presumably, the police because they sort of conned them out of their food, _and_ prizes.

“Steve,” Bucky stopped for a second to bend over. “Stop, get on me.”

“Is that your way of saying I go too slow?”

“Yes,” he looked at him, pulling the sheet off of him, shoving that and the blanket into their candy-filled bag. He climbed onto his back, Bucky steadying him under the knees as he straightened his posture. “Where the hell did we park again?”

“One street over,” Clint said.

“We should’ve just gone to those houses we originally parked by…”

“Barnes,” Tony said from his other side. “Give me the keys. I’ll go start the car and meet you at the end of the street.”

“Why do you guys all think it’s okay to just drive my car around?”

“I’m trying to get us out of here in time so we don’t get arrested.” Bucky looked towards the beefed up security guard, who was, oh _shit,_ starting to stand up and make his way over to them.

“Oh God, I’m getting ‘nam flashbacks, Buck,” Steve leaned against the side of his head. “What if it’s the same guys that…”

“Steve, holy shit, that was almost ten years ago. How could it be the same cops?”

“I bet you they’ve been waiting for us to do something really stupid again to bust us for good. And now’s their chance.”

“ _What_ are you guys talking about?”

“Pillow talk, Clint,” Bucky looked at Tony, pulling out his keys and tossing them his way. The security dude was moving even faster, so they all sort of made a final sprint to the revolving doors and pushed themselves outside. “Promise you won’t just leave us here?”

“Do you really have that little faith in me?”

“Listen. You come and get us the fuck out of here, you’ll have all of my trust. And respect.”

He took the keys from him. “Deal,” then he took off running down the street as they went the opposite direction, hearing the siren of a police car off in the distance. What an _interesting_ night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Can we _please_ go to a bar now? I _need_ a drink.” They managed to get out of there in the nick of time, because as they were driving away, they saw _another_ cop car pull up to the front of the building. Which was pretty stupid for just a couple of guys who lied about their identities to win a contest. But, there’d also been at least that many cars when they’d stolen those pumpkins (and ear of corn), so it wasn’t that weird.

It was weird to be sitting in the backseat of his own car, but Bucky didn’t mind it because now he could hold Steve and kiss his cheek and _relax_.

“Where though?”

“Head back towards our place. Bar there was supposed to be doing trivia or something.”

“Trivia of…?”

“I ‘unno. Halloween facts.”

“What’s a Halloween fact?” Steve laughed against him.

“A fact about Halloween, Stevie. Clearly.”

“Wow,” Steve looked at him with a wrinkle to his eyes. “Had no idea.”

“I know. I’m very smart.”

“Very.”

“Dumbasses,” Tony called to them, “how close to your place is it?”

“It’s by that Indian restaurant. Y’know what I’m talking about?”

“I do,” Clint raised his hand. “I know exactly what you’re talking about. Turn left up here, Tony.”

They drove in silence, which was like bliss to Bucky’s ears, before Clint spoke up again. “So you really haven’t talked to Bruce in, what, over a week?”

“Yes.”

Bucky glanced at Steve. “Tony, as much as I don’t approve of the way you’ve handled all of this… why don’t you call him?”

“ _Call him,_ ” Tony repeated, flat. “What, you mean right now?”

“Ask him to join us,” Steve said.

“You’re kidding.”

“Do it, man,” Clint clapped his shoulder. “Listen. You already ruined one relationship. You don’t need to ruin two.”

As they pulled up to a stoplight, Tony yanked out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts, stopping on Bruce’s name before clicking it. Two rings sounded out. “He’s not going to pick up, I’m telling yo—”

“I told you not to call me,” Bruce’s voice crackled through the speakers.

“Hi,” Tony said, off guard. “Yeah, I know that. But it’s Halloween and I’m heading to a bar right now with the guys. So, I’m asking you to come join us. Please?”

There wasn’t a response at first, but as Tony started to travel down the road, Bruce finally said, “I’ll think about it. Text me the address,” and then hung up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They’d ended up missing the trivia contest, but Bucky couldn’t care less about that because he was on his second bottle of beer, leaning into Steve’s side as he stroked his hands, and felt very, very content at that moment. They were sitting in the back corner of the bar at a booth, offering them a good view of the dance floor and also a bit of privacy from the rest of the patrons.

“So, Nat texted me again,” Clint said in between a sip of his own drink. “And Pepper told her to have me ask you why you’ve been ignoring your dad’s calls. So, why have you?”

“Why do you think?” Tony scratched the back of his head. “This seriously _wasn’t_ supposed to happen. And he doesn’t seem to get that either. I tried talking to him, didn’t end well.”

“How _did_ it happen?” Bucky asked. Again, he was sick of Tony’s drama, but he really was curious.

Tony rubbed his temples. “How any…” he formed quotations, “‘crush’” then took another sip from his bottle, “forms. We reconnected last year again because I hadn’t seen him since, I don’t know, our graduation probably. We started spending a lot of time together, strictly business related. And then it became very _not_ business related.”

“What made you realize you love—”

“ _Not_ love.”

Clint raised his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright. What made you realize you _liked_ him as more than just a friend?”

“Stark,” Bucky pointed at him. “Oh my God, _don’t_ fall for that trap. That’s what he said to get me to turn into a sap over Steve.”

“You were always a sap,” Steve said with a chuckle.

“You’re right, but it’s still a trap.”

Tony looked at Clint, blatantly ignoring him. “I’d wake up in the morning thinking about him. Be laying there next to Pepper, have her in my arms, and he’s the one that was on my mind.”

“And you never told her this, why?” Bucky sighed through his nostrils.

“Because I put on an act to just make it through every day, Barnes,” he ran a hand through his hair. “This is the worst my anxiety has been in years. I started taking medication again, for Christ’s sake.”

“Are you still in therapy?” Steve asked.

“Yeah— I mean, sort of. I was seeing this shrink that was a buddy of my dad’s a few times a month. But, that’s probably over now.”

Clint threw his arm around his shoulder. “Listen man. You fucked up. Doesn’t have to be the end of the world though. Dude, everyone’s got problems at this table,” he waved towards Bucky and Steve, “took six years to propose—”

“ _Hey_ ,” Bucky hissed. He felt Steve rubbing his thigh.

He pointed to himself, “—met my girl ‘cause of… dangerous mutual interests,” then he looked at Tony. “You and Pepper weren’t meant to be, I guess. Maybe Bruce’ll be good for you though. Who knows.”

“Speak of the devil,” Steve said, leaning over. Clint turned his head, waving.

“Hey man.”

Bruce timidly approached them, rubbing his fingers. “Hi.”

“Hi Bruce,” Steve smiled.

Tony took in a deep breath before he looked at Bruce. “It’s been awhile.”

Bruce looked down at the floor. “Tony, can I talk to you? In private.”

“You sure can,” Clint answered for him, shimmying out of the booth. Tony slid out before he gingerly watched Bruce, disappearing through the backdoor to head outside with him.

Bucky sighed, finishing off his bottle. “Massive change of subject, _please_. ‘m so sick of this shit. Clint, what’re you doing for Christmas?”

“Christmas?” he hummed. “That’s an excellent question that I do not have an answer to. What’re you guys doing?”

Bucky looked at Steve, then back at Clint. “Probably gonna drive out to see my grandparents for a bit then _maybe_ go on a trip somewhere.”

Steve cocked his head. “Trip?”

He smiled at him. “Mhm.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“If I tell you now, it’d ruin the surprise, Steve.”

“Wait, are you being serious? We’re going on a trip somewhere…?”

“Is this about Thanksgiving? Wait, no, Christmas. Right. Oops.”

“ _Clint…”_ Bucky let out a guttural whine, slumping over himself further.

“Thanksgiving?”

“I’ll talk to you about it later, Stevie.”

“Buck, I hate—”

“I know, sweetheart. I do too. But, let’s at least talk about it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“No, I wasn’t talking about Thanksgiving. Something else. Something I probably shouldn’t of brought up, but I’m too excited about it that it’s getting harder to hold it in.”

“Can you give me a clue at least?”

“We’re flying there.”

“Flying?”

“Is it Hawaii?” Clint said into his bottle.

“ _No_. It is someplace warm though.”

“Tell meeee,” Steve begged but Bucky shook his head.

“Gotta wait ‘til Christmas eve. Sorry buddy.”

Steve groaned. “You suck.”

“Won’t be saying that when you see where we’re going.”

“Okay, fine. But for now, you suck.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Hey, bicker twins,” they both looked at him. “Let’s hit up the dance floor. Think we’re all pretty relaxed now, yeah?”

“I’m down.”

“No. No way.”

“Oh, Steve, come on.”

“ _No_. God, Bucky, I’m the worst dancer on this entire planet. There’s no way—” then Clint was standing up and pulling Steve onto his feet, Bucky sliding out behind him, hands wrapped around Steve’s waist as he guided him to the dance area.

“Steve, everyone here is drunk and in costume. We all look like idiots, no one’s gonna say anything.”

“You promise you won’t laugh?”

“If I do, it’s just cause I’m laughing with you, buddy.”

Steve frowned. “Don’t laugh at, or with, me!”

“I’ll try not to.”

The three of them danced together to a weird remix of _I’ll Put a Spell on You_ until the song changed and Clint pulled away from their small group, chasing after someone he thought he knew (he swore he saw Kate, but who knew). So, Bucky pulled Steve closer and they continued dancing together. Steve stepped on his feet, more than a few times, but he’d gotten past the point of caring anymore. They were just having a good time and that’s all that mattered.

Bucky cupped his jaw, stroking his fingers through his short hair until he leaned closer to deeply kiss him, Steve’s mouth all too inviting. Bucky’d hardly even felt the craving to smoke that day, they’d been so busy and caught up with being in the moment.

Above the music that was like a loud dull hum in his ears, he could hear Steve, breathlessly saying, “I love you, James. So much.”

“I love you too, Stevie,” he stole another kiss, chaste and mildly rough. “With all my heart.”

“Are you really not gonna tell me where you’re taking us?”

“Nope.”

“But, we are going on a trip?”

“Yep.”

“To another state?”

“Yep.”

“Is it somewhere we’ve been before?”

“Nope. Somewhere you’ve always wanted to go, though.”

“Somewhere I’ve always wanted to go?” Steve’s brows knitted. “Uh… hm.”

“If you think _really_ hard about it, you might be able to guess, Steve.”

Steve rested his head against Bucky’s shoulder. “This is gonna keep me up all night now.”

“Well, good. ‘cause we’re gonna be up all night. _Until Dawn_ , you _promised.”_

“Oh, Christ. Fine.”

“Thanks. Love you.”

“Love you too…”

Looking behind Steve, he saw Tony sitting back at their table with Bruce, the two of them engaged in conversation and laughing into each other.

“You know, he ain’t that bad of a guy after all. I mean, he’s still a total asshole, but he’s okay.”

“Kinda feels like old times, huh?”

“It really does.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

They finally drove back to Clint’s house after the five of them boogied to their heart’s content (well, Steve was still pretty shy and reserved, but Bucky tried to loosen him up), accidentally drawing a crowd when Clint decided he’d test out some of his ol’ ‘breakdancing moves’. Basically, it looked like he was having a seizure right then and there on the dance floor, but Bucky appreciated his lack of giving a fuck about what anyone else thought.

They’d parted ways with Tony because he’d gone to stay with Bruce for the night. The only reason they’d gone back to Clint’s house (besides dropping him off) was to pick up the few bags they hadn’t thrown into the car earlier.

After saying goodnight to Nat, Clint walked him out. He was about to take Lucky out on a walk, the little guy so excited he couldn’t sit still. Clint pulled him into a side hug, arm slung over his shoulder as they walked to his car.

“I’m sure we’ll see you guys around again.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Bucky nodded. “It’s been fun, Clint. Glad we could all hang out together this month, even though some of the circumstances have been… shit. We’ve both missed you guys.”

“We’ve missed you too. And, hey, you gotta tell me where you’re taking him.”

Bucky popped the trunk, tossing the bags in. As he slammed it shut, he looked at Clint, cupping a hand around his mouth as he genuinely whispered, “ _we’re going to California_.”

“California? Visiting… Scott?”

Bucky shook his head. “Ain’t it the… happiest place on Earth?”

“You’re taking him to Disneyla—” of course Clint with his loud fucking mouth would start yelling, Bucky clapping his hand over his face to get him to shut up. Then, he heard Steve open the door and jump to his feet.

“What did he just say?”

“Nothing, Steve. Get back inside.”

He glared at Bucky. “Did he just say... Disneyland?”

Bucky groaned so loud he thought he might’ve woken up the entire neighborhood. He punched Clint in the arm, hard. “ _Fuck you_. I hate you. I seriously do.”

“Dude, I’m sorry!”

“Buck,” and then he looked back at Steve, his eyes visibly wet. He started walking closer to him. “Are— are we seriously—”

“Yes, Steve,” he sighed through his nostrils, “we’re going to Disney. Gonna be in California for five days, three of those at the the parks.”

“ _Buck_ ,” Steve nearly knocked him over as he tackled him, squeezing him. He could hear him sniffle as he stroked down his back.

“Awh. That’s sweet.”

He kissed the top of Steve’s head. “He’s been wanting to go there since we were kids, Clint. Always would go on and on about how he wished he could meet Mickey Mouse in the flesh. Er, fur. And,” he cupped Steve’s chin, “guess what. You get to meet Ariel too.”

Steve’s eyes widened in childlike wonder. “I-I… I don’t even know what to say anymore. This is gonna make my present look like shit now.”

He kissed him, laughing. “I was gonna book it so we went over Christmas, but my grandma keeps bugging me to get you down there. Especially now ‘cause she wants to see your ring.”

“That’s okay, Buck. God, I don’t even care if we go to Thanksgiving anymore. I just—” he pulled Bucky closer. “You’re too good for me.”

“Nah. We’re perfect for each other.”

Clint loudly yawned. “This is extremely _romantic_ and all, but you guys should get home so you can christen the night and I can head to bed. After we go on our w-a-l-k, of course,” Clint stared down at Lucky, who only woofed in response.

“We’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, okay. I had a lotta fun tonight,” Clint pulled a piece of candy out of his pocket. “Glad you guys could make it.”

“Turned out a lot better than I imagined it.”

Steve pinched his cheek. “Told you it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Yeah, yeah. Have a good night, Clint.”

“You too. Bye guys,” Clint said as he started walking down the street, Lucky running ahead of him.

Bucky rounded the car, slouching in his seat, leaning his head against the wheel. He ran his hands over his face. He felt just a tad bit upset because, hey, who wouldn’t after planning for a very special trip for six months in secret. But, then as he looked over at Steve, who was nothing but smiles, all he could feel was happiness instead.

“Man, I want a hot shower so bad. And coffee.”

“Coffee…”

He sat up, turning his keys. “We’re staying up, Steve. No backing out of it.”

“But, I’m so tir—”

“Me too, but the game’ll wake you up. Shower will too.”

Steve leaned against the window. “I can’t believe we get to meet Ariel.”

“You should sing her everything you know. She’ll be so impressed.”

Steve stared at him. “...she could do a duet with me!”

“There you go,” he reached over, squeezing his knee. “Merry very early Christmas, honey.”

Steve squeezed his hand back. “God, I can’t wait to marry you.”

There it was again. That feeling he’d get in his chest like his heart was fluttering, or was on the verge of self combustion. “Me too, Stevie.”

 

 

* * *

 


	14. Fireplace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The month of October was eventual for the pair, to say the least. Ever since Halloween came to an end, Bucky and Steve found themselves in the routine of going to work and feeling restless when they got home because they had nothing to do, other than try to pass time with video games, or, God forbid, actually deal with their thoughts and grief.
> 
> Now, Thanksgiving was finally upon them, and though they both hated attending the Barnes' Thanksgiving, it gave them something to do. But, once they get there, they quickly contemplate just booking it back to Brooklyn already.

* * *

 

 

Two fingers cupping each of his eyelids, he forcibly peeled open his eyes; the red numbering of their alarm clock was nothing less of blurry and even though the neon light of it was subtle, it stung. Three thirty in the morning yet his bed was empty, the spot next to him nothing but a mess of thrown about sheets. Through the thick of his sleep, he'd felt a shift in the mattress, which was enough to jostle him awake — normally, a bomb going off wouldn't even disturb Bucky, but over the past few weeks, since Steve's mom passed, he'd trained himself to be on high alert. Didn't matter if he was lost in a pulp or in a completely different room, he could recognize the instant Steve's mind started to wander, and knew just how to bring him back, usually.

 

Lately, classical musical did the trick. On the way back from work one day, he'd popped into Best Buy and bought a simple MP3 player. Could've gotten one of those nice Apple products, but, he didn't really see the difference other than gloating about 'having money'. The thing could only hold a couple hundred songs, but he'd filled it with some of Steve's favorite film soundtracks — from orchestrated instrumentals (he put the music from The Shining on there) to, of course, The Little Mermaid (hearing 'Kiss the Girl' in between Mozart and Frank Sinatra always got Steve smiling).

 

Tonight was going to just be another one of those nights. He blindly pawed for his bedside lamp, flicking on the switch. Usually hanging on their door handle was Steve's coat, and that was missing, so Bucky assumed he was probably on the roof again. He noted the MP3 player was missing too. Legs dangling off the side of their bed, he fell into his slippers and clutched a flannel blanket around himself. Bucky didn't mind waking up at these ungodly hours (rather, tried not to mind). He was just... he was worried about Steve, worried so much it even kept him up sometimes. As much as his distractions seemed to work, Steve still fell into those same crying fits he'd get even when she was still in the hospital and, he didn't do this much anymore, but there had been a few times where he'd locked himself in their bathroom and refused to come out. The last time he did it, he'd been in there for almost three hours.

 

Bucky sat outside the door, trying to talk to him and coax him to come and curl up on their sofa instead. The door wasn’t locked but he waited for Steve’s okay before he finally went in. When he did, he found Steve hunched over himself inside the sink cabinet. Reminded him of that one scene from A Christmas Story. Steve always tried to deny he was that small, but, he really hadn't grown since high school. Wasn't as short as he was as a kid, but he wasn't too far off.

 

Grabbing their keys, he locked the front door, trying his hardest to creep up the old, creaky stairs. There weren't a ton of people in their building, thankfully, but he assumed by now they were all fed up with Steve and Bucky's poor sleep habits. One more floor and a short flight of stairs and— there was a piece of wood wedged between the rooftop exit. Bucky found himself sighing in relief. He'd rather Steve be out there, trying to calm himself down than say, out wandering the streets where he could actually get hurt.

 

Bucky shimmied his way onto the rooftop, making sure the door was still kept open. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself. Was a lot colder out there than it was inside their apartment. Their heat wasn't the best, relying on old radiators, but it felt like it was close to ten degrees.

 

"Stevie," his voice blended in with the wind, but Steve still clearly heard him. He had on Bucky's headphones, looked a bit massive on him, but the bass was damn good so he got why he'd use them. Bucky slowly approached him, crouching to his knees. Seemed like the more he bent down lately, the more all of his bones would crack. Was he really getting that old, yeesh.

 

"Buck," Steve wiped the back of his palm under his nose. Sitting down fully and crossing his legs (the bare skin of his ankles touched the cold ground and it made him gasp a little), he wrapped his arm around Steve's shoulders, pulling him onto his lap. Steve's back was pressed to his chest, and he wrapped the blanket around them both, kissing his chilled neck.

 

"You don't gotta come out here all alone, you know," he lulled, taking both of Steve's hands into his own. It’d already been a week and a half since Halloween — that was the downside to the holiday, wait all year and it goes by faster than you can care to process — but Bucky was noticing a drastic shift in Steve's mood. All of October, they'd been keeping themselves busy, between recreating the outfits of some of their favorite characters to partaking in all their favorite childhood traditions.

 

Since the thirty first, they hadn't done much of anything. Was just work, come home and hang out for awhile, sleep, rinse and repeat. The only thing coming up next that Steve was pretty stoked about was their, very much anticipated, trip, and Christmas. Bucky wasn’t the biggest fan of the holiday himself, but he knew how much Steve loved it, and he really _did_ want to see his grandparents. He'd always decorated trees with Steve when they were little, built snowmen in central park and went ice skating a few times over the course of the season. December was a long ways away though (er, not really, but it was a long time to wait to do anything).

 

"I know," Steve was playing with his fingers. The headphones were around his neck but he could still hear some sort of jazzy tune vibrating from them. "Just didn't want to wake you up," he finished with.

 

"You know I don't mind."

 

"I do."

 

He sighed against his skin, could see his breath as it left his mouth. He started biting at his lower lip. Thanksgiving was coming up pretty soon, but Bucky never thought about asking Steve again in the past because, in all honesty, that was Steve's _least_ favorite holiday. To be frank, Bucky didn’t give a shit about it either. Did enjoy a good Black Friday sale or two though — that's how he had such a massive DVD collection, would keep a notebook and jot down movies he wanted to see throughout the year. Bucky was like one of those guys you always see on the news, waiting six hours outside of Target to get major discounts on everything. But, instead of waiting for a giant flat screen, he'd be that nerd wanting to buy Blu-Ray re-releases and 4K box sets of classic black and white films.

 

"So, you know Thanksgiving is soon..." he was tapping against his wrist. Steve craned his neck, Bucky getting a glimpse of his baby blues. "And we’ve talked about it a few times, but you never told me if you’d go for sure yet."

 

The Barnes family was rather large, you see, so for all the major holidays, they'd throw family get togethers. Bucky hadn't been to one of their Thanksgivings with Steve since he was, at least, sixteen. He took Steve twice when they were still in high school, went once when he was legally an adult, and then stayed home with Steve every other year. There's not much more to Thanksgiving than stuffing your face full of food (as much as Bucky liked food, Steve would get full after two bites of turkey), and watching the game, which they both preferred baseball over football anyways.

 

Bucky wanted to go now though. It might actually be fun and a good changeup of things. It was going to be Steve's first holiday without his mom around, and the Barnes always had that magic ability of being able to cheer up anyone, no matter how sad or mopey they were.

 

" _Ugh_ , I don’t know, Buck—"

 

"Thought you liked my cousins. Stevie, c'mon, you haven't seen my family in... I don't even know how long. You don't think it'll be at least a little fun?"

 

Because there were so many people, they'd rent out a cabin in Southern Indiana every year. Usually got a nice wooden one, tucked away somewhere in the woods, surrounded by nothing other than the river and maybe some wildlife friends (sometimes bear, but usually just deer and a sly fox). Everyone would stay there for a few days, playing too many rounds of Charades and, if it was nice enough out, they'd even go fishing or kayaking for a bit. His cousins always brought their dog with, Cosmo. Was a chipper little guy, and Bucky knew Steve loved Cosmo, even if he did scare the shit outta him by chasing him around the block once.

 

The thing he liked about the way the Barnes did their Thanksgiving was, they didn't make a giant buffet full of your traditional foods, like cranberry sauce no one wants to touch and mounds of mashed potatoes. Instead, they'd set up a picnic blanket outside and fire up the grill, making hot dogs for everyone and sharing a few beers. His uncle always thought one step ahead and would bring his own heaters, setting them up around everyone.

 

"I do like them, you know that. But, I 'unno if I'm up for it this year, Buck. 'm sorry. We’re already going there for Christmas anyways, do we really need to drive up to Indiana two months in a row?"

 

“It’s a lot, I know. Let’s just play it by ear though, okay?”

 

“Fine.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

" _Bucky_ ," Steve whined as he wrapped his fingers around Bucky's wrist. He'd been hauling Steve's duffel bag down the stairs, getting ready to embark on their twelve hour trip to Indiana. Bucky knew what he said, knew he told Steve they'd just see how he felt but he also knew those words had no real meaning to them. He'd already made up his mind, and no matter how much Steve would complain, wouldn't stop him from just shoving him into the car.

 

"Don't wanna hear it, Steve. We're going," he treaded out the glass front doors of their apartment building, popping open the trunk of his Buick. He tossed the duffel bag in, beside his own suitcase, and slammed it shut. "Just gotta grab one more thing and we can go."

 

"But, I _really_ don't want to." Bucky spun around on his heels, a finger pressed to the tip of Steve's nose. He tried to keep himself from frowning, made sure his voice was level, but he was starting to feel a little irked.

 

"Listen. I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't think it'd be good for you. You know I'm not that kinda person," he pointed at the car, "got your seat all comfy for you. Brought your favorite blanket and a throw pillow. And see," he gestured again, "brand new bottle of Cherry Coke, just for you. So, go sit down, relax and I'll be right back."

 

Grabbing the last thing he needed for their journey — a bag full of snacks for the road, but Bucky mainly had his eyes on the box of Cheez Its — he did one final swoop over the apartment before locking the door. Back in the car, he tucked the bag under Steve's feet, turning his keys.

 

"Don't crush those, okay. Don't know when our next stop's gonna be."

 

Steve rolled his eyes and sighed, but Bucky could see that twinkle to them. "Stuck with you, in a tight space, for twelve hours, huh? Might go a little crazy."

 

"Really? Thought that was like, heaven for you."

 

"Ha," Steve's tone was dry.

 

Getting on the road, their small talk quickly turned to silence and then the boredom hit. Bucky was bouncing his knee, elbow resting against the window pane. He was stroking his fingers through his short hair, back and forth and back and forth. He could see Steve was somewhat drifting off, his eyes fluttering but, Christ, he was just so bored. He wasn't even thinking anymore, just half focused on all the trees they passed by.

 

"Stevie," Bucky cooed, reaching over to grab his knee. He'd had the blanket wrapped around his head, but he abruptly pulled it down, his half-lidded eyes watching Bucky. He grinned at him, waving. "Wake up. Time for you to entertain me."

 

"And how am I supposed to do that?"

 

"Alphabet game?"

 

"Fine," Steve rested his palm against his temple, swinging his feet around to sit more comfortably. In the process, he accidently kicked the box of (now opened) Cheez Its, eliciting a whine from Bucky. "Oh, shush. Who's starting?"

 

"I can," he tapped on the radio, muting it. Scratching the overgrown scruff of his chin (he practically had a beard at this point, maybe he'd do that no-shave November thing finally), he thought to himself. "Hm," he hummed before snapping, "Alien."

 

"Knew you were gonna say that," Steve's nose wrinkled as he laughed, pulling the pillow onto his lap. "Uhhh... baseball, I guess."

 

"Good, good," he nodded, clawing at the steering wheel. "Cantaloupe."

 

"Sounds really good right now, or watermelon," Steve snorted, but then he simply said, "Dying inside."

 

Bucky couldn't take his eyes off the road, but he still managed to look at Steve for a rather long three seconds, smacking him across the chest.

 

"Ow, what! It's valid."

 

"Sure, fine. I'll accept it," he licked at his teeth, trying to find his next word. "Elevate."

 

"Fuck."

 

"Starting to regret this now."

 

"You're the one that wanted to play it."

 

"And I still do. Just forgot you're not... very _good_ at it," he heard Steve make a noise in protest but he waved him off. "How about goosebumps? Good books."

 

"Never really liked them," Steve grabbed Bucky's phone, flicking at the screen before he plugged the aux cord into it. He turned down the volume right as Bucky began to pout. "Hello, I'm tired."

 

Bucky groaned. "I know, so shut up."

 

"Just let me sleep."

 

"Kaahn you play this game right, please?"

 

"That's cheating. It's supposed to be a 'k', not 'c'."

 

"It was a k. Your turn."

 

"Alright," Steve cleared his throat before he slapped Bucky's thigh. "Let me sleep."

 

"Me still bored," Bucky retorted without missing a beat.

 

"Nnnn— I don't care!"

 

"Oh my God, talk about cheating," he shook his head. "Continue."

 

"Please let me sleep?" Steve clapped his hands together. He was trying to speak in a sing-songy innocent tone. Of course it didn't work on Bucky though.

 

"Quiet."

 

"Really? Final—"

 

"Steve."

 

"Fine, alright. I'll behave," Steve was back to fidgeting with the pillow. "Twilight."

 

"Ultraman."

 

"Nerd," Steve said under his breath with a chuckle. "Venom."

 

"The character, or what a snake has?"

 

Steve shrugged, so Bucky continued. "Warped tour."

 

"Xerox."

 

"Yetis."

 

"Zzzzz— I'M TIRED."

  


* * *

 

 

By the time they drove down the desolated roads of Story, the sun was already starting to set, the sky overcast with colors of orange marmalade. Darkened clouds were rolling in and he'd gotten three texts from his mom, asking if they were almost there. He'd only been to Story once before, and originally, he wanted to stop at the local inn for dinner — wasn't even that he was hungry per say, but he'd read all about a local tale that it was supposedly ‘haunted’. Maybe on the way back, Steve would... definitely enjoy that.

 

He wished they did have a little more time. He would've liked to get out and appreciate the rustic buildings; one of them looked like it was an old, rusty shack, vines overgrown across its metal shingles. It felt like they were transported back to the 1800's, and hell, there was even a horse parked outside one of the bars. God, did they time travel?

 

Tucked away in the overly green woods was a campsite, filled with various cabin rentals. Moving past the ranger station, he could see that other people had the same idea as them, a few camper vans sprawled around. Driving away from the initial campsite, he found himself surrounded by a village of differently sized wooden cabins. Theirs was the furthest down, also the one with smoke coming from its chimney— because there were so many people coming, they'd practically rented a villa. Couldn't cram that many people inside anything smaller.

 

"Steve, can you let my mom know we're here. You can, uh, take a photo or something," he passed him his phone, Steve yawning in reply.

 

"Mhm." Bucky ruffled his fingers through Steve's messy hair.

 

"Thank you," he looked at him, biting on the inner skin of his cheek. "Not for that, but, for coming. I know you didn't want to. Promise it'll be fun though."

 

"I know, Buck. Know it's better to do this than," Steve vaguely gestured with his free hand, still staring down at the screen, "sit around with my thoughts. Oh, your mom said she's excited to see us."

 

"Don't know how many people'll be here tonight. Still got another day 'til Thanksgiving, so," Bucky nudged him. As they drew closer to the cabin, he could see Cosmo running around the yard with a tennis ball in his mouth, Rebecca flailing her arms at him. "Brought the PS4 if you wanna play a little _Until Dawn_ tonight."

 

"Oh, _God_ ," Steve started laughing into his hands. "What part did we leave off on again?"

 

"I don't remember... I've played the whole thing three times before, don't wanna ruin the big secret for you."

 

"What big secret?" Steve'd gone doe-eyed and Bucky only looked back at him with a smug expression.

 

"So you don't know, huh."

 

"Know what!?"

 

He wiggled his brows at him, rubbing his knee. "Just gotta find out, Stevie." He pulled up behind his mom's van, turning off the engine and pulling out his keys. It almost hurt to be back on his feet. He stretched his arms behind himself, rounding to the other side where Steve was. He wrapped his arms around his, still tucked inside a blanket, fiance, kissing either side of his cheeks.

 

"Mm, feels weird to not be driving anymore," he said against Steve's head as he swayed him side to side. He felt Steve snaking around his waist, pulling him closer and embracing him back.

 

"Happy to finally be here," Steve said, all too quiet.

 

"Happy to _have_ you here."

 

Taking him by surprise, he felt someone else come up behind him, hair nuzzled between the nook of his neck and shoulder. He could already tell it was Rebecca by the way her long strands of chocolate brown hung over his arm. "Bucky, Steve!"

 

"Hey Becca," Steve peered at her. He was wearing a polite smile— obviously, Bucky could tell he was happy to see her too, but it was a bit hard to be too excastic when he was as worn out as he seemed. He could lie about how he was doing, but he couldn't hide those lines forming under his eyes.

 

With his elbow, he nudged Rebecca off of him, turning around to fully face her. He crossed his arms flat against his chest. Not being able to help herself (because she was always a perfectionist), she tried to smooth out the wrinkles of Bucky's shirt, toying with the collar of his leather jacket. She said, sounding distracted, "Mom's going to be so happy to see you two."

 

"Bec," he shoved her wriggling hands away, "we saw both of you two weeks ago."

 

She pinched his earlobe, snickering. "Two weeks too long! Come inside," she was reaching for Bucky's hand, taking it into her own, tugging on him. But, he planted his feet firm in the ground, putting all his weight on one leg.

 

"Bec— Jesus, hold on," he jabbed behind himself with his thumb, "haven't even gotten our bags out yet. Just give us a sec."

 

"Okay. Uncle Bernard and Jessie are here too. Think grandma and grandpa were planning on coming in the morning, but I don’t know."

 

"Go tell them hi. We'll be inside soon," he shushed her away, pulling out his keys to pop the trunk. He pulled out his suitcase, handing Steve the duffel bag. He looked at him with a mischievous smirk, bundling the blanket in his arm and setting it down inside the car. "Actually went to GameStop a few days ago. Wanted to play this Halloween night, so, maybe we can try it out tomorrow instead."

 

Bucky'd slung his arm around his neck, pulling him into his side and dragging his suitcase behind. Steve looked up at him, "What is it?"

 

"Remember that Alien Isolation game? Has VR settings too, you know."

 

"VR...? That sounds horrible, Bucky."

 

"God, don't get so worried,” he laughed. "Don't even have VR. There's an option to turn on your mic though, and any noise you make in reality, aliens will hear it too. They get alerted to where you are in the game, so you can't be yellin'."

 

"Nrgh, I don't like the sound of that."

 

"I’ll make a compromise with you. I'll play, you can watch from the peanut gallery. Better not mess me up though."

 

Immediately upon stepping inside, Cosmo was whirling around, his bushy tail wagging. He ran over to Steve, throwing himself on him — Steve basically matched Cosmo in height, the dog probably weighed more than him too.

 

"What's all the commotion?" his mom's voice was traveling down the halls. "Is that my Jamesy and Stevie?" She was standing at the top of a set of wooden stairs, quickly traveling down them. Cosmo ran over to her, barking his little head off. She threw her arms around the both of them, pulling them into a tight hug.

 

"Hey ma," he tapped her back, Steve softly laughing to himself. "Hi, Ms. Barnes."

 

"Have you two eaten yet? You must be exhausted, driving all the way here."

 

"It's fine, we're fine. You drove here too, what're you going on about?"

 

"Had helpers though. Charles drove most of the way before we stopped for the night just outside of Ohio."

 

"He's here too?"

 

Rebecca called out from the kitchen. "He went to the town over to pick up some things at the store."

 

"Ah," Bucky nodded. He looked at Steve, pinching his side. "You hungry yet?"

 

"Just tired, really."

 

He pulled Steve closer into his side. "We haven't been sleeping much lately."

 

"How're you doing, Steven? Is James still treating you well?"

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Awh, ma, c'mon. I'm always good to him."

 

"Yes, he's been a real sweetheart," he teasingly poked at him, but Bucky could feel his face burning up.

 

"Anyways," he cleared his throat, "think we're gonna rest for a bit. We get a room, or are we stuck sleeping on the couch?"

 

"No, we saved you a room," she chuckled, waving at them over her shoulder. They followed her up the stairs. She pushed open the door of a room at the very end of the hall, the smallest of them all. It looked like a kid's bedroom, but it wasn't like they needed much more. There was a king sized bed, balcony overlooking the hills, and an attached bathroom.

 

"Thanks ma," he gave her another quick hug, kissing her on the cheek. "We'll be down later for dinner."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tongue sticking out from the side of his mouth, Bucky fiddled around behind the television, trying to plug in their playstation in the dim light. Sure, he could've used his phone's flashlight but, a little challenge never hurt. Watching him was Steve's upside down face — he was sprawled across the bed on his back, kicking his feet in the air. He'd changed into something more comfortable, a plain black tank and a pair of Star Wars printed sleep pants.

 

"You warm enough?" Bucky smiled as blue illuminated the room. He swooped up the controller, dropping it in front of Steve. He peeled off his leather jacket, draping it across the back of a chair. He wanted to change into something comfortable too, but then that would've meant having to dig further into his suitcase, and, that was just too much work for how tired he was feeling.

 

He fell next to Steve, kissing under his chin. Steve's fingers trailed through his curled locks, twirling them . "No, but that's what I have you for, right?"

 

"Right," he kissed him again, but this time on the lips, before pulling on his shoulders, flipping him right away around. Before settling in next to Steve, he pulled a blanket around them both, snuggling into his side. Watching the snow falling during the opening title scene, he nudged Steve, nodding. "Think you're getting close to some of the good scenes."

 

"You keep saying that. It's making me so nervous." Steve pressed resume.

 

"You're fine, Stevie. Don't you worry. Oh, the mining shaft!"

 

"...what about it?"

 

Bucky shook his head. He watched Steve play for awhile; his current character was Emily. He spotted something flashing on the screen. "Hey, idiot. Don't forget the totem."

 

"Right. Thanks. Oh, Christ, danger totem? The hell's that supposed to mean?"

 

"Why do you ask so many questions, Rogers? Just play and find out,"

 

Bucky watched as he progressed further in the game, coming across the scene that showed you Beth’s grave. Eventually, he got the scene where wendigos were mentioned for the first time, and that’s when Bucky could see sweat beading on his forehead, making him bite his lip.

 

"Who's your favorite character?"

 

"Josh, probably."

 

"You like that guy?"

 

"Yeah. Probably be his friend if he was real."

 

"...I worry about you sometimes, Steve."

 

He keeps watching him, occasionally glancing down at his phone, when he got a bright idea. The best idea ever, actually. He ghosted down the curve of Steve’s spine, softly murmuring against the side of his ear. The music from the game was intimidating and so it made his plan even better.

 

"Hey, uh, I was doin' some readin' about this place last night," he gestured around them, "found some interesting things about Story too."

 

"Oh, yeah?" Steve said absentmindedly.

 

"Mm," he nodded, flicking his thumb against his lips. "There's a place I wanna take you to when we're heading back home. Remember that Inn we passed?"

 

"Sort of. Was a little zoned out when we came in."

 

"Well, anyways, it's rumored to be haunted," Steve looked at him with an exaggerated expression, putting the game on pause. He rested himself on an elbow, chin pressed to his palm.

 

"It's... haunted?"

 

"Yeah. The whole town was founded in the 1850's, originally called ‘Storyville’ but renamed in the early nineteen hundreds. Was a lively place once, had a huge community and a lotta stores. People started leaving after the great depression though. But, not everyone was that fortunate. There's this famous ghost at the Inn, known as the ‘blue lady’."

 

"The blue lady?" Steve echoed.

 

Bucky nodded. "There’s a whole room dedicated to her and everything. She got her name 'cause people've said she has icy blue eyes that pierce right through you,” he poked his cheek. “Some guests claimed to have found blue ribbons left behind. She walks around in a flowing white gown, maybe like a wedding dress?"

 

Steve seemed more interested in his story now, and he curiously asked, "Who is she?"

 

"She's thought to be the wife of the guy that founded the town. I unno," Bucky shrugged, "could be a bunch of BS but, the current owner said there's years worth of documents of people complaining about 'paranormal activity'."

 

"And, you want to take us there?"

 

"What? Not any worse than this place."

 

He left it at that but then Steve was pushing on his bicep, shaking him. "W-whaddya mean?"

 

"You sure you wanna know? Now that I think about it, it's a lot like that game," he gestured towards the tv, game still paused.

 

Steve rolled his eyes. "You're not about to tell me there's supposed to be wendigos out here, are you?"

 

Bucky clapped his hand over Steve's mouth, practically shoving him under his own body. "Shhh!" He whispered into his ear, frantically looking around the room. "Don't fuckin' say that, idiot."

 

"Oh my God, Bucky, there's no such thing as a wendi— "

 

He kissed him before he could say anything else. "You trust me, don't you?"

 

Steve was looking into his eyes. "Trust you more than anyone."

 

"Right. So when I tell you not to say something, you better listen. Lot of burial grounds out here, Steve. Never know what kind of creatures roam around in the dark."

 

Then Steve smacked him against the back of his head. "Asshole! Why're you always trying to make me scared?"

 

Bucky laughed, pawing under his eyes. "'cause you're cute when you get all shaky-like."

 

"Fuck off," Steve gave him another playful smack, but Bucky wasn’t having any of that. He pinned him down on the bed, straddling him either side of his hips as he raised his hands, Steve staring up at him with his skin blotched pink. He started tickling his sides, poking at him, and Steve squirmed around, voice cracking as he laughed, trying desperately to push him away but failing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky snuck out of their bedroom, quietly clicking the door behind himself. Steve'd passed out around an hour ago, and even though he was dead tired and much desired sleep himself, he couldn't seem to will himself into a dream state. Finally giving up, he decided to be social for once. He was growing a bit peckish too, having nothing that day except Cheez Its— well, they did stop at an Arby's in Pittsburg, but that was so long ago, his stomach was feeling empty again.

 

"James," his mom spoke in a hushed voice, waving him over. "Is Steve asleep?"

 

"Yeah, he’s passed out pretty hard. Probably won’t be for long though. He's been having a really hard time at night,"

 

"Poor thing. How's he really been?"

 

"It's... it's been rough. He never wants anyone to know how he's actually feeling, and, it ain't too good."

 

“I’m really glad he has you,” she rubbed his arm before she nodded towards the stairs. They went downstairs and she walked ahead of him to go into the kitchen, plating him up a few things. There were more people now, but he stayed near his mom.

 

“I’m just glad he doesn’t have to go through this alone,” he picked up a fork. “I never told you where we’re going for Christmas, did I?”

 

“Aren’t you coming to your grandparents?”

 

“Well, I mean after. We’re taking a trip.”

 

“Oh?” she leaned against the counter.

 

He nodded. “You know how Steve’s like, _obsessed_ with everything Disney?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“I might’ve gotten us tickets to go to California for a coupla days, and a hotel to stay at so we can basically live inside Disneyland.”

 

She raised her brows. “Did you already tell him?”

 

“Yeah. By accident, ‘cause he overheard Clint. He started crying though, he was so excited.”

 

“He’s such a sweet boy.”

 

“He’s something, that’s for sure.”

 

“That sounds like a lot of fun, sweetie. Make sure you send us pictures.”

 

“We will. It’s gonna be great, ‘m real excited to take him there too,” Bucky said in between bites of pasta. From the corner of his eye, he noticed his younger uncle approaching them.

 

“James?”

 

He put down his plate, reaching out to hug him. “Hey, Jess. It’s been so damn long since I last saw you.”

 

“I know. Feels like the last time I saw you and Steve, you were running around your mom’s house in capes.”

 

“To be fair, we _still_ do that. Just in the comfort of our own place.”

 

His mom laughed. “Did anyone tell you yet that James is engaged?”

 

“No way. Congratulations,” he ruffled his hair. “They’re growing up so fast, Winnie. Before we know it, Rebecca will be getting married too.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “ _Don’t_ put that idea in her head. She’s already talked about it before.”

 

“Who’s talked about what?” Rebecca suddenly appeared, grinning at them.

 

He looked at her. “Why you’re so fricking nosy.”

 

She reached to flick his cheek, but he shoved her away.

 

“Oh, James. What game were you guys playing earlier?”

 

“What?” he looked at Jessie. “Oh, we brought our PS4. It was _Until Dawn_. Uh, why?”

 

“I was just curious,” he said with a hum as he turned to walk to the backdoor, Bucky watching him walk away with an uneasy feeling in his gut.

 

“Okay, that makes me _really_ nervous.”

 

“I wouldn’t trust him either,” Rebecca said. “You know he loves his pranks.”

 

“Yeah. That’s why I’m nervous, wise ass.”

 

“James,” his mom huffed. “I never intended to raise a sailor.”

 

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking at Rebecca. “Always getting me in fuckin’ trouble.”

 

“Mommmm, he said another bad word.”

  


* * *

 

  


Bucky knew it was going to be another long, restless night when he felt a shift in the bed, mattress dipping and shifting. He blinked his eyes open to see Steve standing outside on the little balcony attached to their room, wearing Bucky’s slippers and bundled in layers of blankets, like a Steve burrito.

 

Slowly, and as quietly as he could, he pushed himself from the bed. He’d fallen asleep in the same thermal he worn on the drive up, but it was still damn freezing out. The air touched the bare skin of his neck and it made him want to dive right back under the covers.

 

Creeping over to him, he gently placed his hand on Steve’s shoulder. He didn’t jump this time. And in his hands, he could see him holding a stone, smoothed over and orange in color. The one he’d given his mom.

 

He nudged his nose against the shell of Steve’s ear, resting his other hand on his hip. “Honey, let’s,” he yawned, still stuck in a dream-like state, “go downstairs. S’fireplace and,” he kissed his chilled skin, “we can make a fort too.”

 

Steve sniffled, nodding. “Okay.”

 

“Did you have another bad dream?” he combed his fingers through his hair.

 

“Yeah. The same one I keep having.”

 

“The maze one?”

 

“Mhm,” he leaned the back of his head against Bucky’s chest before he was tugging Steve back inside, sliding the door shut and latching it. He picked up his leather jacket, slipping into it as he reached for Steve’s hand, taking the rock from him and setting it down on his nightstand. He led him down the stairs, stopping in the spacious kitchen.

 

He flicked the light on. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but no one was awake, thankfully. He did, however, notice a box of hot chocolate packets, which made his stomach grumble as he flipped on the electric kettle.

 

“How long’ve you been awake?”

 

He shrugged. “An hour, maybe.”

 

Bucky sighed, kissing the side of his head. “Sorry, sweetheart. Hey, are you hungry? You never had dinner.”

 

“No, I’m okay, Buck. And I’m sorry I woke you up.”

 

“Don’t be. Glad I’m awake with you.”

 

Steve smiled at him, pushing up on the balls of his feet to kiss him. “I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” he tousled his hair. “Go pull the cushions off the couch and start making a base. I’ll be right there.”

 

Bucky picked up one of the cocoa packets and ripped it open with his teeth, pulling out two mugs (one red and one blue). He poured the powder out, filling up the cups with the water. He grabbed both of the mugs with one hand, setting them down on the floor in front of the cushions that Steve was tossing on the ground. Steve turned around to steal a chair from the dining room, bringing it back over.

 

Bucky scanned around the room before he said, “I have an idea,” and then slowly went back upstairs, stripping their bed. He came back down with an armful of sheets, pillows and, even more blankets, tossing them on the, now bare, couch. He threw a white sheet around the back of a chair and tied a knot so it was sturdy, working together with Steve to create a reasonably sized fort. He gestured to the opening of their new adobe.

 

“After you.”

 

“Oh, Buck,” he sighed dreamily as he crawled inside, “this is totally the house of my dreams.” He was laying flat on his stomach, looking at Bucky who gestured to him. He went to flick on the switch to the gas fireplace before he joined him, throwing his arm around his waist, tugging him closer.

 

“Mine too,” he cooed back, winking at him. But then he got lost in Steve’s eyes and he was falling down that rabbit hole all over again, unable to look away, not like he wanted to.

 

“Why’re you looking at me like that?”

 

“‘Cause,” Bucky smiled lopsided. “You’re cute.”

 

Steve ducked his head. “You’re a lot cuter.”

 

“Okay, alright. It ain’t a competition, Stevie,” he kissed the side of his neck.

 

“Hey—”

 

“Hey.”

 

“Can we make smores?”

 

“ _Now_?”

 

“No, no. Later today, when your uncle or whoever is grilling stuff. Can we?”

 

“Sure, Stevie. Remember when we use to roast marshmallows over the fire when we went camping?”

 

“We went camping like, twice, and we burnt our marshmallows to a crisp. Yes, I remember.”

 

Bucky took a sip from his drink. “We should go on a camping trip again in the future.”

 

“We could go glamping.”

 

“Uh, what? Excuse me?”

 

“Glamping. Y’know,” Steve gestured loosely, “glamorous camping.”

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “There’s nothing glamorous about us, Steve.”

 

He snorted. “You’re right…”

 

As Bucky raised the warm mug to his lips, the power in the cabin loudly cut out; the fireplace was fine, untouched and room illuminated a warm amber. But the lights in the kitchen were off, and when you’re out in the wilderness, things got dark. Really dark. So dark that when they both peaked their heads out from their tent, they couldn’t see anything.

 

“What the hell,” Bucky shared a long glance with Steve before Steve was nearly crawling on top of him, whimpering, “ _Buck_.”

 

Bucky craned his neck to look at him. “Maybe a fuse blew or something.” But then, from somewhere upstairs, there was a slow scratching noise that traveled against the wood paneling of the walls. It sounded like a stick being dragged, and it made Bucky huff.

 

“Okay, Buck,” Steve dug his nails into his arm. “This ain’t funny, knock it off.”

 

“ _Steve_. I’m not doing this.”

 

“Yeah, right. S’why you were feeding me all that ghost crap earlier.”

 

“Stop being stupid, I’m _serious_. It’s probably my uncle or Bec and her boyfriend.”

 

Right as he said that, there was a loud knock that came from outside the front door that got Bucky nearly jumping out of his skin, his face twitching. Steve was scared too, Bucky could tell by the way he was digging into him for dear life, but he still snorted. “Would you look at that. The scarer becomes the scaree.”

 

“‘Course I’m scared, dumbass. I mean, I _know_ it has to be someone here, but,” Bucky peeked his head out again. “We’re in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere, in the woods, and I was talkin’ all about wendigos earlier—” Bucky shifted closer to Steve, jutting his head back inside their fort at the sound of another loud scratching sound.

 

“Should we— I mean, maybe a raccoon or rat  got inside. Shouldn’t we try to see what it is…?”

 

Bucky gulped. “Yeah, sure. You got your phone?”

 

Steve nodded, handing it to him. He turned it on and flicked on the flashlight before shimmying out and standing up. Steve followed him, still pressed into his side. He looked around; everything was so incredibly dark, but he didn’t see anyone else’s shadow. He called out, “Jess, that you?” but there was no response, only rustling that came from the kitchen.

 

They took a step in that direction before he was pawing at Steve’s hand, shining his flashlight that way. But still, nothing.

 

“I’m gonna fuckin’ start freaking out Steve, I swear.”

 

“You’re _really_ not doing this?”

 

He looked at him with wide eyes. “I _promise_ you I ain’t.”

 

With a creak from the stairs, Bucky immediately served around, almost knocking into Steve with his elbow. Away from the spotlight he was shining upstairs, there was a shadow that dashed through the thick of the darkness.

 

“The _fuck was that_?” Bucky’s voice cracked.

 

“Uhm…”

 

There it was again, dashing around in the dining room. It was too damn dark to see what it was, and Bucky said “Jessie?” again before accidentally dropping Steve’s phone, muttering to himself as he bent down to pick it up. But as he was down on one knee, crouched on the floor, the shadow started sprinting at them. It was large, furry, growling and it had long, sharp _horns_ , its nails dragging across the floor.

 

Steve let out a panicked shriek as he tugged Bucky onto his feet by the collar of his jacket, dragging him into the kitchen, leaving his phone behind. The, whatever the fuck it was, _monster from hell_ kept running around, spinning in circles as Steve jumped onto the counter, crossing his legs and pulling Bucky against his chest, almost choking him as he wrapped his arms around him.

 

“Don’t use me as your damn meat shield, Steve!”

 

“J-just stand still!”

 

Bucky took in a shaky breath as he stared down the shadow that stood right before them. He could hear it panting (or maybe that was him breathing hard… who could tell), before it took one large step closer, moving to pounce on him. It pushed its paws against his chest, making him yell in surprise as he stumbled and got knocked off balance, falling against his side, nearly taking Steve down with him. A tongue lapped against his chest, the very moment the lights flickered back on.

 

It was Cosmo. In a pair of fucking fake devil horns. And, of course, in the distance he could hear none other than his uncle relentlessly chuckling, his laughs echoing.

 

“Oh my God, that was so _not_ funny,” Bucky groaned, pushing Cosmo away.

 

“I think I’m gonna have a heart attack,” Steve clutched his chest. Bucky stood up, carefully helping Steve down from the counter. He rubbed both his shoulders, pulling him closer.

 

“Yeah. Me too,” he licked his lips. “Jessie, where the fuck are you?”

 

“Hm?” he said from behind them, making Steve jump again and fall further into Bucky’s arms.

 

“I take it back. I _hate_ your family.”

 

“Me too,” Bucky glared at him. “This is why we don’t come to these things.”

 

“Oh, come on. Just a little post-Halloween tomfoolery. It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

 

“Speak for yourself, almost fuckin’ pissed my pants ‘cause I thought a demon was gonna try me out like a new suit.”

 

Steve shuddered. “Buck, if you ever turn into a monster or zombie or whatever, do you promise you won’t eat my face off?”

 

“I’ll try not to, Steve.”

 

Jessie snapped his fingers. “Zombies. That would be good one. Next time…”

 

“No, _no_. Not next time.”

 

Steve whispered to him. “How long are we staying here again?”

 

But, Bucky replied loudly, “two more days.”

 

“Wow, that gives me so much time to brainstorm something else to freak you scaredy cats out.”

 

Bucky shook his head. “We’re not gonna get any sleep now, thanks to you.”

 

He grinned. “You’re welcome. Speaking of which, I’m gonna head to bed, it _is_ pretty late,” he slid a finger under Cosmo’s collar, tugging him over to the stairs. “Have fun camping out in the living room. Thanks for the good time. See you in the morning.”

 

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Bucky spat before he went over to pick up Steve’s phone and flicked the flashlight off. They opted to leave the kitchen lights on as they crawled back inside the tent and threw mounds of blankets on top each other.

 

Steve leaned into Bucky, tucking his head into the crook of his shoulder. “That _was_ pretty funny, to be honest.”

 

“I don’t disagree. Makes me wanna play Alien now though. Being chased and all that shit.”

 

“Ain’t there a tv down here?”

 

He nodded, scratching his chin. “Should I bring the playstation down here so we can play until the sun comes up?”

 

“ _Do it._ ”

 

He ruffled his fingers through Steve’s hair, pulling him into a rough kiss before he started to get up. “Be right back then. Don’t let Cosmo get you.”

 

Steve scrunched up his face before he flipped him off.

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double posting the chapters today because this one had been 75% done since... October, so it was ready to go haha  
> I think I'm going to add one more short bonus chapter so the final total will be 16 chapters. And then, there's going to be a part 2 to this series of Steve and Bucky going to Disneyland. :-) I'll make a series thing so the stories will be connected and easy to find.
> 
> Disney is like, my favorite place ever and I've always wanted to write a story about them going there. That series is going to be shorter, assuming something like 6ish chapters (...probably going to be lengthy in words though lmao)
> 
> Thanks again ParrishPassages, SABandBAB, theUniversiaHologram, myfanticalromance, redwerewolves, the Marvel Amino community, and everyone else who has followed this series. It's been super fun to write since I didn't really have an end goal with this or any certain direction I wanted to follow with the story, and it's kinda just developed on its own. Had no idea it was going to reach 70k+ words but, I'm not complaining either. It's taken forever to get this boy done, but it's been a really good stress reliever 
> 
> So, hopefully this series will be finished this month for real now, and then the 2nd part will be started, yaaaay


	15. The blue lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's always been a thrill seeker, even since they were kids. His favorite ride at Coney Island was the Cyclone, hands down, and he insisted the only way to watch horror movies (properly) was in the middle of the night, with all the lights off. So of course he'd like ghost stories too. They were interesting and he found them amusing. That's why he was so drawn to Story and didn't want to pass up the opportunity of being able to stay in a 'haunted hotel' for a night.
> 
> Yeah, see, Steve wasn't that keen on the scary stuff (as he'd proven time and time again). No fake haunted houses, and no real ones. 
> 
> Spoiler alert: Steve actually had more fun than Bucky even did, which he found out while they were unpacking the car once they got back to Brooklyn.

* * *

 

It'd only been, at least, fifteen minutes since they'd left his family and Bucky could already feel the exhaustion settling deep within his bones. Everything had actually gone okay. Thanksgiving was full of boisterous laughter over blasé jokes that made Bucky roll his eyes and a lot of Cosmo trying to jump at the picnic tables and steal food off of everyone's plates.

 

The exhaustion was just from, well, obviously having to spend almost an entire day in the car driving to get them here, and now back to New York, but, Steve still couldn't sleep. Which meant neither of them were sleeping. And it was like the nightmares were only getting worse, anytime Steve _did_ manage to fall asleep for a few hours.

 

There was this repeating dream Steve kept experiencing; it started the day after Halloween, but it was never complete. He knew that from the first time he woke up in the middle of the night in a sweaty panic. The dream ended abruptly, harshly, like he’d been swallowed up by the darkness before his eyes focused on their bedroom.

 

Every time he fell back into that same dream, there’d be a new piece that was added to the puzzle. Another second of information that made him realize what the bigger picture was.

 

He felt like a little boy, wandering through a maze that looped and swerved and had no obvious way to exit. All he could see was black, but he could _feel_ the tight compression of restricting walls, that grew closer and closer to his own body. His fingers would brush against these edges that squeezed him until he’d wake up, breathless, panting to the point that Bucky would wake up because he thought Steve was having a damn asthma attack.

 

Steve didn’t tell him what was going on at first. The first night, he was as pale as a ghost. Looked like he’d seen one too; he was sitting upright and staring off into the distance, wary of Bucky’s touch and not saying a word. He fell asleep on the couch that night.

 

Bringing up the conversation proved to be a struggle at first, because Steve _still_ really didn’t want to remember what he’d felt. He knew it was just a dream, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t disturbing. Eventually, there was a new scene added to the dream. Every night he’d go through the same thing, over and over again feeling like a caged animal, like his head was being held under leagues of water and there was no way he could catch his breath. Until he caught sight of another figure.

 

He’d figured out how to avoid the walls closing in on him by chasing that angelic looking character; it was a woman’s outline with no distinct features, other than the fact that she emitted a soft glow.  But whenever he’d approach it, it would only disappear and Steve would once again be awake, shivering against Bucky’s side.

 

Bucky could see the distress in Steve's eyes at just the thought of sleeping. Life was eating away at him. He was having a horrible time trying to focus at his own job, and though he could tell Steve was genuinely enjoying himself over the weekend, he could tell something was off. He was jumpy, and sometimes the only thing Steve craved was for Bucky to hold him and rock him in his arms. Then, it could be within that same second that he wanted nothing to do with him and forcibly smacked him away.

 

He saw Steve lingering in the kitchen, watching as everyone pulled things from the fridge to start setting up the grill. They’d left the Playstation downstairs for the kids, bought Minecraft though neither of them would ever touch that cursed game again. There was commotion coming from all corners, enough noise that not even earplugs would help.

 

So he’d snuck up behind Steve, arms snaking around his waist. His mistake, because Steve’s knees buckled, and if Bucky hadn’t been holding him in place, he would’ve collapsed on himself.

 

There was a tissue balled in his fist, and when Bucky rested his chin against his bony shoulder, he could hear him sniffling. Being around his family could be overwhelming for anyone. Hell, that’s why he never came to these damn things. That’s _why_ he’d locked himself in a closet for three hours before in the past, just to avoid the staining kisses from his aunts.

 

But, for Steve, it was a different kind of overwhelming. Like rubbing salt into a wound. Being around a giant, loving family only reminded him that he never had this growing up. Well, he _did_ , by proxy, because the Barnes never left them out of family gatherings. But his family consisted of him, and his mom. And now it was just him.

 

She never remarried, couldn’t have a second kid like she’d always wanted because Steve was already hard enough on her body.

 

Bucky was his family. This _was_ his family. But, it _wasn’t_ , and he missed his mom, and nothing could ever fill that void he felt. Didn’t matter how many times Bucky’s mom rubbed his back or his cousins pulled Steve into a wrestling match.

 

Steve was missing something no one could replace, and there was nothing Bucky could do about it, and he _knew_ that.

 

He didn’t know how to distract him enough, or if he was even going about it the right way by trying to fill up all their free time with spur of the moment outings and money costing activities and video games and sewing projects. Was he only doing more harm than good? Was it better to just… indulge in the sadness?

 

The night before they left camp, their family stayed up to talk amongst themselves and have fun over some glasses of wine. They broke out scrabble and, here’s the thing about Steve when he’s tipsy. He always got talkative to that point that he couldn’t control himself, and so he’d start listing off facts about the US government even though no one was listening. He’d laugh his ass off and fall into Bucky’s lap because he’d crack himself up at the sound of his own breathing.

 

It was fun, until Bucky pulled them into their room because he could tell Steve was tired. He kept denying it, but he was doing a pretty shitty job at trying to hide his yawning.

 

He continued to talk off his ear until he went limp against his side. That’s when he pulled out his phone. He’d let out a big sigh. He was always feeling so anxious now, because that’s all he wanted in life. Steve, and for Steve to feel content.

 

He’d looked up how to deal with grief before Sarah even passed away. He'd read the handout the doctors gave them, the massive packet it was. He’d rented books from the library Steve worked at and tried to watch self-help videos. And, he'd even called the hotline number that _Strange_ doctor had slipped into the manilla folder they were sent home with.

 

But he still felt just as lost. Just as scared as he was when Steve called him and said she was gone.

 

He'd squinted as his screen, **the five stages of grieving** displayed in bold across the top of the site.

 

  * _Denial and isolation._



 

Isolation was a given. He knew they were isolating themselves from the rest of their friends, whether they’d been conscious about it at first or not. They’d cancelled on Peggy when she asked them if they’d want to spend the night out because, in the moment, they thought they’d feel better if they laid in their bed instead and took BuzzFeed quizzes for six hours.

 

Denial. Bottom line, he wasn’t inside Steve’s head and he _didn’t_ know how he was handling the situation. But he knew for a fact denial is the first thing he found himself clinging to. Denying that Sarah was gone, just like he’d at times deny she was really _that_ sick.

 

But, when that black hole of realization opened up and he was sucked in, he felt like that terrified kid again that locked himself in his bedroom closet after his mom had gotten the call that his dad was dead. He buried himself at the bottom of a pile of blankets because he _wanted_ to feel like he was suffocating.

 

He thought if he tried hard enough to ignore life and reality and everything inbetween, that Sarah would call them up on the phone and invite them over for some homemade lemonade.

 

That day never came, and wouldn’t ever come, and when Bucky finally whispered the words, “ _she's really gone,_ ” to Steve as they'd been sitting in the parking lot of a Five Guys, it was Steve's turn to hold Bucky in his arms and comfort him.

 

 

  * __Anger.__



 

 

What a familiar friend anger was, for both of them. Bucky’d always been a hot head, ever since he was a child. His mom always said he inherited that from his father, along with his looks and immense stubbornness.

 

If he wasn’t so driven by his anger though, he doubted him and Steve would’ve gotten as close as they did so quickly. That was something they heavily bonded on at first. Though they were in elementary school, they always found themselves in the time out corners and getting stern talking tos from the teachers.

 

When they’d gotten to highschool, they started packing meals to bring to their detention dates. Steve more often than not got too overheated from the debates he willingly put himself in (including his own damn debate class). Luckily Bucky shared that one with him because he knew when Steve’s playful banter turned to rage, and he knew how to bring him back to reality and away from that adrenaline high he clung to.

 

And, Steve did the same with Bucky. Bucky the instigator, pushing people’s buttons on purpose because he loved fights. It was like he _wanted_ to be punched; he wore his shiners like medals.

 

When Bucky would come home from work with his fists balled, snapping at Steve for leaving a wet towel on the couch, he wouldn’t react to him. He’d simply stay quiet until he could calm down on his own. And if he wanted to apologize, Steve would accept it, but if he didn’t, he wouldn’t get hung up on that either.

 

It was like _everyone_ was an annoyance to them. Every chirp from the birds that nested in the tree outside their place or every time someone took more than five minutes to order something at the restaurant Bucky worked at, had him grinding his fucking teeth until his jaw ached.

 

He’d called Steve so many times on his breaks, telling him how he was going to fucking lose it and actually self combust, because, “ _Steve, a fuckin’ party of_ ten _came in and they're all fuckin’ rowdy as hell and they keep asking for refills on free bread.”_

 

If they’d ever moved from that phase, Bucky didn’t know. Maybe anger was a permanent leading emotion of his.

 

 

  * __Bargaining and depression.__



 

 

Like how Steve would quietly whisper to himself when he thought no one else was listening, “ _it should’ve been me_.” Bucky never commented on it after the first time.

 

Now, depression was another something that Bucky was _very_ familiar with, like an old girlfriend that still visited him every time she’d pass through town.

 

The thing people don’t understand about depression is the grip it has over your soul. It doesn’t matter _what’s_ pulling you down. A bad day at work or loss of someone. Depression possesses you and controls you, and wins over your mind. Like Bucky’s senior year of high school.

 

Almost every damn day he’d hole himself up in Steve’s room when they’d get done with classes. He couldn’t deal with being at his own house, and he didn’t give a shit anymore about his curfew, or the rule of ‘no sleepovers during the weekday’. He wanted to be alone, but not without Steve.

 

His mom was only _slightly_ annoying (read: pestering him every single day) about picking a college to go to. He didn’t want to go to college, had no clue what he’d major in anyways. Oh God, did he feel lost about the future and when he’d think about turning eighteen, his hands would tingle with electricity.

 

He’d fallen back into his chain-smoking habits. He’d found connections to snag some cheap booze every now and then when his mind needed a rest.

 

He wore the same thing to school every day and only took showers when Steve forced him to. He’d been growing out his hair at the time, but it’d gotten so matted from his lacking of caring to brush it anymore (which is when Steve helped him buzz it off, and that’s why he normally kept it short now. He preferred it short anyways).

 

His daily routine was a cigarette for dinner, ignore his homework and crawl under Steve’s covers to shut out the world surrounding them.

 

He was channeling his teenage years again when he no longer felt interest in doing anything, unless Steve was there to do it with him. He didn’t care if he accidentally burnt his hand with a spray of grease at work. He gave up on wearing anything other than sweatpants.

 

The only thing they could do now was… accept that she _was_ gone.

 

  * _Acceptance_.



 

The hardest thing a person could do. Accept that someone you love is no longer with you. Accept that Sarah was gone.

 

And, Bucky felt like in a way, their stay in Story could be therapeutic. Maybe Steve didn’t believe in all the paranormal shit Bucky was obsessed with, and it’s not like Bucky was sold on the idea either, but the energy of the town was like nothing he’d ever felt before as he parked the car.

 

The town was once bustling with life, alive with markets and families moving in from all over the place. Now only did people occasionally make a pit stop for a bite to eat in the tiny town.

 

“Sure is pretty around here, I’ll give them that,” Bucky mumbled from the side of his mouth as he parked the car, craning his neck to look out the dashboard. He'd been so caught up in thought that neither of them had said a word since they left the campsite.

 

He'd said _before_  they left the cabin that they were still going to pay a visit to the Story inn. That was the extent of what he said though. He didn’t specify that he’d made a reservation to _stay_ at the inn. In the infamous Blue Lady room, the very same ghost story he'd been rattling off to Steve a few days prior.

 

“It is,” Steve turned his head to admire the changing leaves of the tall trees above them. Then, he was opening the door and jumping to his feet. “C'mere,” he wiggled his fingers. “I wanna go for a walk.”

 

“Okay Stevie,” Bucky stuffed his keys into his pocket before ungracefully stumbling as he got out (Steve snorting in the distance), slamming the door shut. He rounded over to Steve and pulled him closer, taking his hand into his own. He kissed the top of his head.

 

They followed a cobblestone path that lead its way into a small park, tucked away from the road. There was a small bridge surrounded by overgrown grass. Everything was so quiet there, unlike the city. Peaceful and serene and unnerving all at once because Bucky wasn’t use to being able to hear every small gust of wind that tickled at his skin and song from the crickets.

 

“You doing okay, Steve?” He kept his voice level.

 

Steve hummed, swinging their hands back and forth. “Yeah, Buck, I'm okay,” he looked up at him, smile playing across his lips. “Thanks. For bringing us here.”

 

“I'm glad you could come with.”

 

Then he bit his lower lip as he said. “maybe… we could do this again next year?”

 

Bucky clutched a hand on his shoulder, giving him a rough shake. He never thought he’d hear those words from Steve’s mouth, ever. “'m sure my family would be thrilled to have us back, Stevie.”

 

“Hey—”

 

“hey.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes, stopping as they reached the middle of the stone bridge. He ran his free fingers against the edge of a rock. “So, we’re not staying overnight here, right? We’re just stopping for a little bit, _right?_ ”

 

“Well…”

 

“ _Buck!_ ” Steve groaned, smacking him across the chest.

 

“ _Listen_ ,” he grabbed both of his wrists, their gazes locked on each other.  “You don't gotta work til Tuesday afternoon, and I already told my boss we were gonna be getting in late tomorrow. I think it's gonna be fun, Steve, trust me. Plus, I really need one more day before we drive back. ‘m back’s not ready for that yet.”

 

“I _do_ trust you. But I don’t see what’s so fun about staying in a house where people _died_.”

 

“Stevie, if you really think about it, someone’s died anywhere you go. Someone’s probably died right where you’re standing.”

 

Steve’s eyes started to widen, so Bucky continued, “what I _mean_ is, you don’t gotta be scared, okay? I got us reservations a coupla days ago and when I called, the lady I talked to said she'd give us a tour of the place too. Tell us about its history.”

 

“A ghost tour. _Great_.”

 

“Can you at least _try_ to enjoy yourself?”

 

Steve looked away. “Fine. But if doors start rattling or I get dragged down the hall, I'm fucking _running_ back to Brooklyn.”

 

“You can't run.”

 

“I don't care. I'll do it anyways.”

 

Bucky laughed, harder than he probably should have, before he yanked Steve closer, kissing him. “I'll protect you Stevie, don't you worry a damn thing.”

 

“I'm very worried, James. Very. _Very_. Worried.”

 

He scoffed, cupping the back of his neck. “We don’t gotta stay in the room the whole time. There’s a restaurant slash bar downstairs. And if you _really_ get creeped out, there’s a comic store like, thirty minutes from here too. I remember passing by it.”

 

“Now that sounds fun.”

 

“Atta boy. Though, we should probably pick up some energy drinks too, so we can be wide awake when three AM rolls around.”

 

“Oh my God, _James_!”

 

* * *

 

 

With a single bag slung over his shoulder, he held open the front door for Steve as he passed him, looking over his shoulder. Bucky was right about his time traveling theory; just like the rest of the town, it was like the inside of this place was preserved in the past.

 

The ceiling was a pure silver metal like the outside of the building, floors a hard wood and furniture looking like the kind of stuff you’d find at a vintage flea market (or, at Bucky’s grandparents house). It was like they’d walked into someone’s home unannounced, the lobby designed just like someone’s living room, a personal collection of books displayed on the shelves that were built into the walls.

 

“Hi there!” Both of them were so caught up taking in the sight of the place that they hadn’t noticed the woman that was waving at them, cheerfully grinning. Her long blonde hair was tucked behind her ears. “Are you checking in?”

 

“Unfortunate—” Bucky clapped his hand over Steve’s mouth as he interjected, “Yep. We are. And we’re _happy_ to be here,” he glared at Steve, who only wiggled his brows in response.

 

“Great,” she said as she pulled out a thick binder, flicking through pages. “May I have the name you used?”

 

“Barnes,” he felt Steve’s nails digging into his sleeve, so he looked back at her. Her painted nails matched her black velvet dress. “Were you— the person I spoke to on the phone, by any chance? Madison…?”

 

“I am,” Madison chuckled with a nod, glancing at the computer as she typed something quickly, looking back at Bucky. “You said you and your, fiancé?” she questioned, Bucky humming in agreement as she continued, “are from Brooklyn?”

 

“Born and raised. Well, sort of. _He_ was born there, I grew up about an hour from here.”

 

“We’re on vacation,” Steve added, “but he thought staying at a haunted hotel was the perfect romantic ending to our weekend.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, huffing. “He scares easily. Don’t mind him.”

 

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Madison tucked the binder back under the wooden reception desk before she looped her finger under a set of keys and turned on her heel, waving at them as she walked towards a set of stairs. “Our residents here are as friendly as anyone else. Have you been to Story before?”

 

Bucky took Steve’s hand back into his own as they followed her. The off-cream walls were decorated with framed photographs of, what looked to be, the town back in the early nineteen hundreds. “Nah, passed by here on the way to the campsite, but we didn’t have enough time to stop. We were visiting my folks for the holiday.”

 

“How much longer are you in Indiana for?”

 

“Just today, really. We’re leaving early in the morning, ‘cause it takes close to twelve hours to drive back to New York from here.”

 

“Well, I was going to suggest, there’s a park around here that does zip lining, which is pretty fun around this time of the year.”

 

“Oh, reall—”

 

“Who’s that?” As they reached the top of the stairs, Steve stopped dead in his tracks; he was staring down a black and white portrait of a woman that'd yellowed over the years, her collar sitting under her chin and hair neatly slicked back.

 

“Oh, her?” Madison looked over the photograph before she turned to Steve. He could feel his clutch tightening, like a near death grip on him now, and he looked at him from the corner of his eyes, through his lashes. “We believe that’s Ally, the wife of the man who originally owned this place.”

 

“She’s,” Steve’s eyes were flickering between the photo and the woman standing in front of them, “the blue lady or whatever, right?”

 

“We think so, yes.”

 

“Okay,” Steve exhaled sharply from his nostrils, pulling Bucky down so he could whisper in his ear, “this place is giving me weird vibes, Buck.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Steve licked across his lips. “I mean, it sounds _really_ stupid, but it feels like she’s _looking_ atme. The lady in the photo.”

 

“It’s funny you say that because not too long ago, a group of guys came in here and apparently, the frame came flying off the walls because they were calling her ugly.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve rubbed under his nose, “I can _feel_ that. Her sadness.”

 

“Thought you didn’t believe in ghosts, Steve.”

 

“I don’t. But— you seriously don’t feel that when you look in her eyes? Like a really deep loneliness?”

 

Bucky stared at the photo longer. “No.”

 

“She had a son named Benjamin. He was also blond, so maybe she likes you.”

 

“ _Great._ ”

 

“So, uh,” Bucky clicked his tongue, waving his hand at her, “can you tell us more about this place or, the town? Like things that have happened here.”

 

“Oh, it’d be my pleasure,” she said as she led them down a hall of rooms adjacent to one another. They passed by another lobby area, where there was a couch and short bookshelf, full of paperback novels.

 

She unlocked the door to their room, and upon opening it, there was a heavy smell that could only be described as 'hospital’, like rubbing alcohol and ointment, that lingered. The room was decently sized, its floor carpeted and sky blue walls vibrant from the sun. There was a metal framed bed with a nightstand on either side, one with a blue light that was turned on.

 

Across from the bed was a brown wooden dresser, a mirror above it. The room was styled just how the rest of the place was; modern enough for the current time, but also preserving the classic feel of the town.

 

“I was also very skeptical of anything paranormal related, until I started working here.”

 

Bucky walked past her to set down their bag, by the bathroom and against the wall before he went back towards the door frame to stand by Steve.

 

“Have you had any experiences?” Steve asked.

 

“Yes, actually. I’ve been here for a little over a year now. I’m normally working as a bartender downstairs, during the dinner shift, so between the hours of five and eight. I was working the shift by myself last winter because that’s normally our slowest time of the year, so we don’t have many people coming in. A guy had just left so I was cleaning off the bar because, let’s face it, I had nothing else to do. So I turned around to switch on the radio, and when I looked back, the rag I was using to wipe down the bar disappeared. It wasn’t there, and there was no way I’d misplace it because it’s this bright yellow thing.”

 

“Did you ever find it?” Bucky felt his phone buzz in his pocket, quickly pulling it halfway out to see a text from Clint.

 

**Clint-** 1:55 PM

Dude, Lucky just raided our fridge and ate ALL of the leftovers :(

 

**Clint-** 1:55PM

Bye bye pumpkin pie…

 

He groaned under his breath, shoving it back into his pocket.

 

“The next day, yes. I used a different towel because I seriously couldn’t find that one. I locked up for the night and said bye to Rick, the guy that owns the inn. I swang by in the morning the next day to pick up my paycheck, before the restaurant even opened. And when I walked by the dining hall, what do I see hanging over the back of a chair? That same bright yellow rag I was using.”

 

“And no one else was there?” Steve sounded genuinely curious, and it made the corners of Bucky's mouth twitch.

 

She shook her head. “We have three residents here. The blue lady, which you've already mentioned, and then her son, Benjamin, and William, the doctor. I don’t know if you can smell that—”

 

“It smells like those wipes they use to clean up stuff in the hospital, yeah.”

 

“That usually means that William is around. He’s been reported to play around with guests, often turning lights on and off, or knocking things over. Some people have also reported hearing a child laughing.”

 

“Do you actually think… y’know, that these people are here?”

 

“Based on what I’ve seen myself and what my coworkers and guests have reported, I don’t know how else you’d explain it. We have files and books dating back to the seventies of reported activity in this location. Do you know about the history of Story?”

 

“A little.”

 

“Buck’s such a nerd, he always reads Wiki pages of anywhere we go,” Steve snorted as Bucky elbowed him in the side.

 

She chuckled. “Alright. Well, the inn used to actually be a general store, up until the seventies when a couple bought it and fixed up the place. The town was never _huge_ , but their community once consisted of over a hundred members. There was a butcher, sawmill, and a lot of families that lived here. During the great depression is when people started relocating and Story was sort of forgotten about. Until that couple bought this place.

 

“Then, they also decided to relocate, so Rick bought it from them fifteen years later and turned it into what you guys see today; a bar, restaurant and hotel. We actually have a stable if you ride into town on your horse, or would like to rent one. And, might I add, we do a lot of weddings too, year round.”

 

Bucky could feel his cheeks flushing, and it made him shift on his feet, floor creaking under him. “That’s good to know.”

 

“We also do allow smoking here,” she gestured to her left, “we have a balcony, if you’d like to sit outside. It’s a bit chilly today, but you can smoke out there.”

 

“Also good to know,” but then Steve pulled on him, shaking his head.

 

“Please don’t.”

 

“I won’t, Stevie. I won’t. Hey, uh, I have one last question.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do we need a reservation to eat here, or…”

 

“Normally, yes. But we do always take walk ins, especially today when we have plenty of tables open.”

 

Bucky nudged Steve. “Hey, maybe if we get lucky, a ghost will move your fork around, Steve.”

 

“Oh, yeah. What a _joy_ that would be.”

 

* * *

 

 

With plenty of time to kill before dinner, they headed into Brown county, exploring the area. They'd found themselves lost in the comic book store for a decent amount of time (where Steve picked up a _Buddy the Vampire Slayer_ omnibus) before they went on another stroll through nature. Steve cringed at the sign that had a massive warning about bears, and coyote, but hey, the area was too gorgeous to not accept that risk.

 

As the sun was beginning to face into that familiar burnt orange, they found their way back to the car and swung by the general store to pick up a few new snacks for the road. But, as they started making their way back to the hotel, Steve spotted an antique mall.

 

As Bucky was pulling into the parking lot, he asked Steve, “Was it your mom or mine that got us started on thrifting?”

 

_“Both._ S’probably what they bonded about while we were off talking about GI Joe and shit.” Bucky stuffed his keys into his pocket, standing on his feet, waiting for Steve to join him.

 

“ _Ghostbusters_ and _GI_ _Joe_ , Steve.”

 

“You and your damn ghosts,” Steve huffed as they approached the front of the store, stepping onto a concrete platform. There were multiple wooden boxes, stuffed to the brim with rocks of all types.

 

Steve tugged on Bucky, pulling him over to them. “I remember going to those really massive antique stores with your mom all the time.”

 

“The two story ones that kept all the super rare paintings up in the attic?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve snorted. “And then going back to your place to watch the antique roadshow.”

 

“To be fair, Rebecca gets most of her clothes from thrift stores and she always dresses like she’s royalty. Maybe we should take a page outta her book.”

 

“You saying we don’t dress nice? Wait, _don’t_ answer that,” Steve looked down at himself before eyeing Bucky, focusing on his pants with their noticeable stains and the one sleeve of his leather jacket that had paint splatters all across it. “Yeah, maybe we _should_ follow after her.”

 

“I think you always look nice though.”

 

“And I think _you_ always look nice, even with your… ketchup stains and hobo beard.”

 

“ _Hey_ . The ketchup stains are simply a form of creative expression, Steve. And it ain’t a hobo beard. It will be if I don’t shave, but it ain’t _that_ bad yet.”

 

“Yeah, _okay_ ,” Steve crouched to his knees, picking up a geode with a purple core, littered with the shiniest crystals Bucky had ever seen. “Jesus Buck, look at how pretty this is.”

 

“You really got a thing for rocks now, huh, Stevie?”

 

Standing back up, he held the rock towards the light. “You can’t tell me this isn’t cool.”

 

“It is. It’s very beautiful, like you,” he playfully puckered his lips.

 

“Oh _stop_ ,” Steve threw his head back as he started to laugh. But Bucky grabbed his chin and tugged him closer, kissing his smiling lips.

 

“I love you.”

 

“I love you too,” Steve replied, breathless, before he shoved the geode into his hands. “Now buy me this rock.”

 

“Ayesh, fine.” Steve’s slender fingers wrapped around his wrist as he pulled him inside the store, door jingling as they walked in. The wooden walls were hidden by shelves that grazed the ceiling, full of hidden treasures; blown glass vases, luxurious looking pottery and displays of old liquor bottles.

 

There was a glass display of pearl necklaces (after they'd gone through Sarah's belongings, trying their best to figure out what to do with it all, they'd decided on keeping her jewelry box, where she had her own pearl collection).

 

There were metal racks, long dresses hung against them by wire hangers. It was like a new thing appeared anytime you moved your eyes, too much for one person to take in. Bucky spotted a typewriter.

 

They slowly strolled through the shop, a handful of others doing the same. “Buck,” Steve said, quiet.

 

“Hm?”

 

“I’ve been to Indiana probably, I don’t know, ten times or something, but I feel like we never talk about when you used to live here.”

 

“‘Cause I didn’t live here for long, Steve.”

 

“You did for a few years.”

 

“Yeah, until I was six,” he traced his fingers across a wooden table. “Nothing really exciting happened until I met you.”

 

“What about your dad?”

 

“What _about_ him?”

 

“Tell me about him.”

 

“I have told you about him before.”

 

“Then tell me again. What was he like?”

 

Bucky sucked in his lips. “You remember the house I grew up in? I’ve taken you by there before.”

 

Steve nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

 

“Yeah. It had that big front lawn and porch that overlooked it. My mom use to sit out there with Rebecca and my dad would chase me around, pretending to be a monster or some shit. He use to play catch with me too, when I was in little league.”

 

“Aw, man, does your mom have photos of you in your uniform? I bet you were so cute.”

 

“She probably does somewhere. I’ll ask her if you remind me,” he laughed. “But, uh, I loved my dad. He was my best friend, pretty much. Use to take me out for hot dogs and shakes every Thursday after practice. He coached my team sometimes too.”

 

Bucky scratched the side of his face. “He used to be the kind of guy that would tuck you in at night and read you stories ‘til you fell asleep. God, he loved Becca. Always made up songs and sang to her. What was that one, uh,” he cleared his throat, and as they moved further back into the store, away from the people checking out, he lowly hummed.

 

“‘ _Daisy, daisy, give me your answer true,”_ he took in a deep breath, “ _I’m half crazy over the love of you. It won’t be a stylish marriage, I can’t afford a carriage,”_ he pawed at his eyes, “ _But you’ll look sweet, upon the seat of a bicycle built for two_.”

 

“Honey,” he pulled at Bucky's sleeve, “come here,” before Bucky collapsed into his embrace, kissing the side of Steve's neck.

 

“I still miss him too, Steve. I know it— it never gets easier. He would’ve loved you, you know.”

 

“You really think so?”

 

“Yeah, Steve. Would’ve been just as happy as my mom about us getting engaged. Gotta say though, I’m so fucking glad I didn’t grow up here.”

  
“Why?”

 

“I, uh, really don’t think people around here would’ve been too accepting of me. Maybe in Shelbyville ‘cause its more progressive than some other areas, but… I ‘unno. Don’t think people would’ve like some gay goth kid roaming the streets.”

 

“It’s— I mean, it’s not dangerous for us to be kissing or hanging on each other, right?”

 

Bucky shook his head. “If we lived here, I’d say we’d need to be more careful, but, nah. Not if we’re just visiting and are gonna be gone within twenty four hours.” Bucky looked down at the rock he was holding. “We should _probably_ check out. We can swap more war stories over dinner.”

 

“Okay,” Steve grinned. “I love hearing about your life.”

 

“You _are_ my life.”

 

“Hey, I like when you talk about me too. Not gonna act like I don’t,” he snorted.

 

“Oh, Steve,” he brushed their noses together.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“If we _did_ have a ceremony and all that shit… what if we rented a lodge somewhere upstate?” Bucky said as he opened the door to their room. Nothing too exciting happened at dinner, except for when a group ran out from the kitchen and started cheering 'happy birthday' to a guy's wife, who was more than happy for them to stop.

 

Upon stepping in, the room was at least ten degrees cooler than the rest of the house. But, everything was exactly as they'd left it. The comic on the nightstand that Steve claimed as his, the rock sitting next to the comic, the grey plastic bag on the middle of the bed, their unzipped duffel. All untouched.

 

“Who all are we gonna invite though? Nat, Clint, Tony, Bruce, and Peggy obviously.”

 

“And my mom and sister. Probably my aunts and uncles, grandparents too,” Bucky unzipped the duffle bag and pulled out their pajamas, handing a pair of sleep pants to Steve.

 

“So, under fifty?”

 

“Think that sounds about right. Definitely under a hundred,” he kissed Steve’s cheek, tossing his own sleep pants over his shoulder to rub down his sides. “You really think that’d be better than, I don’t know, just going to the courthouse and getting it done quick?”

 

“It might be more fun. Our friends would be there regardless, but, Buck, there’re so many possibilities. I think we should just keep our options open.”

 

He kissed him again before he started unbuttoning his pants, sliding into his lounge pants, putting his jacket on top of the bag. “I’ll do whatever you want to do, Steve.”

 

“ _Only_ if you want to have a whole ceremony and party and all that too.”

 

He looked back at him with smirk before piling his clothes on top. “Okay.”

 

“Buck,” Steve sat down on the bed. “Can I ask you something else?”

 

“Shoot,” he sat next to him, stroking his thumb over his thigh.

 

“This— I know this is a loaded question, and you _don’t_ have to answer it, and it’s purely hypothetical, but I was just wondering… I don’t know, this might be really weird, but—”

 

“Oh my god, just say it,” Bucky laughed.

 

“Do you ever want kids, in the future?”

 

Bucky cocked his head, pressing his tongue to his cheek. “I don’t know. Do you?”

 

“I don’t know either. I think you’d be a good dad though.”

 

“You really think so?”

 

“I know so.”

 

“You would too, Steve. You’d be a great father.”

 

He smiled. “Did I ever tell you that my mom asked me that, like a week after we moved in together?”

 

“ _No,_ ” Bucky snorted.

 

“Yeah,” Steve shifted on the bed, rustling through the bag. He set the Monsters aside and tossed everything else on the floor, gesturing at Bucky so he'd crawl under the covers with him.

 

Steve wrapped his arms around his waist, sighing against his skin. The only light turned on in the room was the blue glass lamp. “She asked if we were gonna start a family since we were living together.”

 

“We were still kids,” Bucky shook his head. “Wouldn’t of been the right time to start a family.”

 

“Mm. That's what I told her. Said maybe we would in the future but, heck I just wanted to finish college first.”

 

“ _Heck_?”

 

“Shut up, James.”

 

Bucky ruffled his hair. “Hey, you wanna watch something?”

 

“Cartoons, please.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, bumping his cheek against Steve’s forehead. “Speaking of children...”

 

“ _Don’t_ judge me. If you’re gonna force me to sleep in this creepy ass room, I better get some _Scooby Doo_ as consolation.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky flipped through the channels until he stopped on _Johnny Bravo_. “That good?”

 

“That’s good,” he sighed, rubbing his fingers over Bucky’s. “What do you think we’ll be like in ten years?”

 

“Stupider, probably.”

 

“No, jackass, I’m serious.”

 

“I don’t know, Steve,” his eyes danced around the room. “Realistically, when I think about the future, I see us happily married. Living in our own house somewhere, close to a studio you can do your paintings at. See you working for a gallery and getting your name out there.”

 

“What do you see yourself doing?”

 

“Carrying around your easels and heavy shit.”

 

Steve flicked him. “So I _was_ right when I said you were my slave.”

 

“Yes. You were _very_ right.”

 

“What do you _really_ see yourself doing?”

 

“No clue, Steve. Just as clueless as I was when I was seventeen. Can we—” he licked his lips. “Can we talk about something else, please?”

 

“Okay, Buck. Like what?”

 

“Like, what you want to do at Disney.”

 

Steve was all smiles at the sound of that. “There’s a couple of rides I want to go on.”

 

“Well, that makes sense, considering it’s an… amusement park.”

 

“Yeah, but I also wanna go to some shows and see the characters and all that.”

 

“Okay, go on. Tell me everything. What rides do you want to go on, and what shows do you want to see, Stevie?”

 

“Well,” Steve looked at him, “the Aladdin stage show, that’s a given. And, uh, oh, the Jungle Cruise, ‘cause that’s a classic. Pirates of the Caribbean and Haunted Mansion too. Basically, all of Walt’s original rides.”

 

“Haunted mansion,” Bucky wiggled his brows. “Not scared of hitchhiking ghosts?”

 

“ _Those_ ones I know can’t hurt me.”

 

“Nothings gonna hurt you here either, honey.”

 

Steve let out a long breath. “Do you— also feel like someone’s been watching us the whole time?”

 

“Sure. I don’t think it’s anything bad though.”

 

“How do you _know_ that for sure?”

 

“Just gotta ask it. Wait, I got a _great_ idea.”

 

“No, _James, don’t_ —”

 

“Hey,” he said louder, turning away from Steve's ear. “Whoever’s here with us, if there is anyone, do you like Disney? Shit, that was before their time, huh…”

 

“Yeah, _stupid_.”

 

“Fine, new question then.”

 

“James, _please_ —”

 

“If anyone _is_ here with us, could you please do us a favor and turn off that light? I’m too lazy to do it myself.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes, but Bucky felt him holding onto him, tightly. “Okay, no more.”

 

“Oh, come on, I’m just messing around,” he pinched his cheek, kissing the bridge of his nose. “So, what other rides at Disney do you wanna do?”

 

“I know you are, but I _hat_ e it,” Steve grumbled. “Uh, well, the Tiki room, s'course. And, _maybe_ , the Matterhorn, but fuck, I hate coasters so much.”

 

“I don't _trust_ you on coasters. No offense, buddy.”

 

“Yeah, none taken. I don't blame you,” Steve chuckled.

 

“Was fuckin’ disgusting, couldn't get that smell outta my shoes for—” then there was a loud creak from the corner of the room, and they both shot up.

 

“Okay, _what_ was that?”

 

“Uh… pipes groaning?”

 

“ _No_ it wasn't.”

 

“Is… is anyone here?”

 

“ _James,_ ” Steve hissed in his ear, pulling on his arm. “ _Stop_. Swear to God, if you keep doing that shit, I'm going to have a fucking asthma attack.”

 

Bucky pushed himself from the bed momentarily before returning with Steve's inhaler, placing it in his hand. “There you go.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “ _Don't_ say anything else. Please. C'mon, I just wanna lay down and relax.”

 

“Fine,” Bucky pushed him back against the mattress and threw the covers over them, kissing him. “Guess we can sleep for a few hours… Til three.”

 

“I _hate_ you.”

 

“No you don't.”

 

“No, I don't,” Steve wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky’s alarm was blaring in his ear, the beginning chorus of MCR’s _Helena_ sounding off loud and proud. He felt himself cringe, because if his alarm was going off, that must’ve meant it was six in the morning. And if it was six in the morning, then that meant they had a _long_ day ahead of them.

 

Steve was still wrapped around Bucky, their legs tangled and his breathing soft against his skin. It was pitch black outside, beyond fucking freezing, and Bucky was trying to think about anything else he possibly could to tune out the song and drift back into a (vaugeley) peaceful sleep.

 

But, his plan failed, and so with a low, tired groan, he shook Steve. “Hey,” he shifted closer to kiss the shell of his ear. “Hey, Stevie.”

 

“What?” he sleepily muttered.

 

“Sweetheart, you gotta get up. We need to get going in,” he ran a hand down his face, “half an hour, at best.”

 

“Nn,” Steve sighed. “Couple more minutes.”

 

“Fine, just a couple more. Then we need to get up and get dressed.”

 

A few more minutes passed and Bucky’s second alarm started beeping; he’d been drifting in and out of consciousness, but he knew he was going to have to be the adult here, or else they’d never get their asses out of this bed.

 

He tugged Steve into his arms and yanked him off the bed (much to his dismay, as he started whining and protesting), setting him down on the brim of the bathtub. He tugged their bag into the bathroom with them and started throwing clothes at him (which he did not try to catch, at all). Lastly, because he really needed it, he picked up one of the two Monsters and cracked it open.

 

Letting the door only close halfway, he took a swig of the drink before passing it to Steve, who was hunched over and staring off into space.

 

“If we leave now, we're probably gonna reach New York by seven, maybe a bit past that.”

 

“Okay,” Steve yawned, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes.

 

“I gotta swing by work quick when we get there,” he took the can from him and forced down another large sip that made his mouth burn, “do you mind? You can come in if you want.”

 

“That's fine, Buck.”

 

“Did you sleep okay?”

 

Steve nodded, slowly. “Had a really weird dream though.”

 

“About?”

 

He looked at him, blinking. “Wasn’t the usual. It… it was our wedding day and I was standing at the altar, shaking in excitement 'til you came out… wearing this really bright pink tuxedo that had Hello Kitty's face plastered all over it.”

 

Bucky went slack jawed, making Steve snort, loud. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

 

“It sort of was. We didn't even have _catering_ , and the ice sculpture _melted_.”

 

“We're not having an ice sculpture.”

 

“But, the suit?”

 

“Yeah. No to that too,” Bucky fished around the bag and pulled out a clean shirt (holding it up to his nose first), setting it beside the sink. He started pulling his thermal over his head when he heard Steve wolf whistle at him, rolling his eyes before he could even get the thing off. “Can't a man change in peace?”

 

“No,” Steve looked at him, smiling full of faux innocence. Yeah, two could play at that game. Bucky plunged forward (carefully, he didn’t want to knock him over) and cupped Steve’s jaws with both hands, one knee bent over the tub. He was hovering over him as he teased his lips, breaths mimicking contact. “You want me to give you a little show, Stevie? That what you want?”

 

“I just want to sleep in longer, Buck.” Bucky’s head fell against his shoulder as his laughs escaped him, shaking Steve.

 

“You’re such a jackass,” but then as he stood up, Steve whined, his fingers drawing a trail across his ribs.

 

“What, are you retracting the offer now?”

 

“I forgot my toothbrush, just gimme a second,” he tapped on his knuckles, turning around to unzip the side pockets of the bag. But, something had caught his eye from the room. A bright something. That damn blue light, that was turned _on_ . “ _Steve._ ”

 

“What?”

 

“Come here, please. _Now._ ”

 

“Uh… why?”

 

“ _Please._ ”

 

“Oh Lord, you're scaring me,” Steve peeked over his shoulder, coughing (or was he choking, maybe both). “ _No_. Did you do that?”

 

“I was about to ask if _you_ turned it on.”

 

“No. How— how would I of turned it on? You dragged me in here.”

 

“And I never left either, I've been with you the whole time.”

 

Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Oh boy. Okay, let's get dressed and just—”

 

“Is someone here…?” Bucky said, quiet, creaking the door further open.

 

“ _James!”_ Steve squeaked, placing his hand on the handle. “Heart attack, I'm gonna have a fucking heart attack.”

 

“Shush,” he reached for Steve's face blindly. “If someone's here, can you turn that light off again? We're gonna be leaving in… a bit. We'll be out of your hair soon enough.”

 

They were both mesmerized by the light, staring at the nightstand until Steve slammed the door shut and quickly turned on his heels, kicking off his pants.

 

“Uh, we should probably shower,” he said as he watched Steve panicking, “And, don't you need to take a pi—”

 

“No time,” he slapped a shirt against his bare chest. “Just get dressed and get me the hell out of here.”

 

Bucky chuckled, cupping Steve's neck to kiss him. “What if when we go out there, that lights off again?”

 

“Then I'll throw up, that's what.”

 

“Hm, yeah, Coney island flashbacks again, Steve. You're giving me flashbacks,” he said as he pulled up his own pants, zipping up his jacket.

 

Steve shook his head, pulling on his socks. “I'm too scared to open the door.”

 

“So, are you _finally_ admitting that you scare easily?”

 

“ _No._ A light turning on by itself would scare _anyone_ , James. Anyone human. But I know you ain't human, so.”

 

“Damn right I ain't. Think I was a xenomorph in my past life.”

 

“That's terrifying.”

 

“Is it? Always thought the aliens were kinda… Sexy looking,” he turned around, slinging the duffel strap over his shoulder and picking up the fizzling energy drink. His hand hovered over the doorknob.

 

“I have no comment.”

 

“Just the truth, Stevie,” then, he slowly opened the door, and, he gulped. The light was off. Of course it was. Steve repeatedly slapped Bucky's side until he gripped his wrist. “I _see_ it, quit hitting me.”

 

“Ohmygod, can we just— can we _please_ leave now?”

 

“Yep,” he sipped the Monster before he shoved Steve into the room. “Say bye to our friends. Probably won't be back for a… long, long time.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I was doing research on campsites and places to go to in Indiana, I accidentally stumbled across this little place, known as [Story](https://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/01/57/b4/21/story-inn.jpg) that looked too aesthetically interesting to not write about. But, then after I'd read about Story's, uh, story, it was too great to not incorporate into this story. 
> 
> I also found this [video](https://youtu.be/OctI2IBOEYw) on Youtube that shows the blue lady's room a bit better (and what the whole inn looks like). This also seems to be a [photo](http://americashauntedroadtrip.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/Story-In-Blue-Lady-Ghost.jpg) of what Story used to look like.
> 
> All photos / videos belong to their respective owners, just wanted to include them because they're pretty neat. Now I want to take a day trip there sometime because I'm not too far from Story... /sighs


	16. Adulthood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time goes by when you're having fun; that's just life. But change isn't that easy to accept. That's also part of being human— scared of having a disruption in your otherwise mundane schedule and concept of how to 'do' life.
> 
> Of course Bucky is excited to marry Steve, that's what he's wanted for six years after all. But it's also scary. And now Rebecca also wants to move out with her, apparently serious, boyfriend which is possibly even more frightening.
> 
> Bucky still isn't all that good at this 'emotion thing', but he's trying. He knows change is good, even though it might be painful and bittersweet.

 

 

“You’re still okay with me stopping for a few minutes, right?” Bucky quickly glanced over at Steve, who was somehow still awake, which was a miracle in itself. Bucky didn’t even know how he was awake himself; the four Monsters he’d chugged _could’ve_ played part in why he’d had some amount of energy (and why he was starting to crash at a rapid rate), but eh, who’s to say for sure.

Steve nodded at him in response; he _was_ still awake, technically speaking, but he could see the exhaustion washing over his face. They both were nothing more than somewhat conscious zombies at that point; they’d been stuck in that car for the past eleven hours, only stretching their legs once for about ten minutes when they stopped to use the bathroom and get more gas, and then they stopped for a second time to pick up a pizza they could eat on the road, through _drive-thru_. Bucky’d never seen a drive-thru pizza place before, and now he knew why. Greasy, but sometimes grease just hits the spot.

Steve also didn’t look the most _comfortable._ He was drowning in two color clashing hoodies (one was his own, and it fit him pretty well, as his own clothes _should_ , but the second was Bucky’s and he insisted on wearing it because he was _cold_ and his mountain of blankets apparently didn’t cut it). He was slouched in his seat, the current sitting position he’d been trying out known as a (very lackluster) ‘criss cross applesauce’. Bucky so wished he could sit that way too, but alas, he was stuck driving.

“Yes, Buck,” Steve yawned. “Would really prefer it if you _did_ pick up your paycheck so we can, you know, get some more food tonight.” He struggled to shake off his blanket nest and twisted around to grab the more than half empty box of Cheez-Its from the backseat, rattling it close to Bucky’s ear. Which he only smacked away and scowled, eyes still focused on the road.

“How funny you are. You act like I never feed you.”

“You _don’t_!” 

“Clearly.” He immediately honed in on the (crushed) can of White label Mtn Dew that was in the cupholder on Steve’s side. The floor of Bucky’s car was littered with candy wrappers and napkins. He really did need to do another thorough cleaning of his car… but, the mess wasn’t entirely his fault. Actually, it was probably ninety five percent Steve’s fault. He was sure of it.

 _Okay,_ maybe Steve only dropped one napkin, but that one napkin didn’t _help_ the mess.

“Don’t look down there. Ignore the evidence,” Steve muttered as he laughed. Bucky rolled his eyes, flicking on the blinkers. He pulled down a street all too familiar and that got the butterflies in his stomach crawling out of the cocoons, flying around for the first time in forever.

He could see the sign of the Milano all lit up, a bright yellow light in the otherwise dark evening. Maybe he’d said this before— he was sure he had, he’d always preferred the comfort of night instead of the daytime sun that regularly gave him a headache — but there was something soothing about the endless void above them. Maybe it was the mysteriousness of it all, he wasn’t quite sure. Or, maybe he really wasn’t from Earth. Which was very plausible.

But driving through downtown, with the skylights twinkling and reflection of reddened tail lights against the hood of his car was like driving in the rain. Soothing. He figured if you grew up in the country, driving in the thick of New York traffic would give you crippling anxiety (which is how he felt about the country, ironically, because he felt like any dirt road he turned down, he’d end up lost there forever), but he always liked the hustle and bustle of city life. Maybe it’s because he always had a hard time sitting still, and that’s one thing you _couldn’t_ do in the city; stay still.

As he pulled into the parking lot, he cranked down the volume of the radio that had only grown to static the closer they got to Brooklyn. He kicked one foot onto his seat, cracking open his door so he could stretch out the other. He was also _very_ tired, and wished he could just lean over and sprawl out across Steve. But, they’d be home soon. He had to keep telling himself that. Just thirty more minutes and they could be back home, in their usually silent apartment. He could cook up the last cup of noodles he’d been saving in the pantry and maybe watch a rerun or two of _Futurama_ before dragging Steve into bed and calling it a night.

He even missed the creaking of their floorboards, or the sound of their neighbors watching tv too loud at night through the walls. He really _did_ miss just being alone with Steve. Enjoying their quiet moments together. Their best adventures started that way, and that’s how they’d end. With just them. Their friends were great, the ghosts were… _great_ , and he loved his family— but he missed when he could sprawl out on their bed with a novel in hand and watch Steve as he sat on the floor, sketching something, sharing a comfortable silence.

He flicked the screen of his phone on (and noted the five other texts that Clint had sent him since he opted to never get back to him— they weren’t _important_ , per say, more just like hourly updates on Lucky and whatever dumb shit him and Tony had gotten up to because that’s what Clint did when he was bored).

His screen was blaring enough that it made him squint, and Steve too when he passed the phone to him.

“You see that?” Bucky was trying to bite his tongue and hold back the giant sight that was stuck in his throat like thick sap, begging to escape. Boldly displayed across the front page of Google was a winter advisory for Brooklyn. God dammit. God fucking dammit, why was it already winter? It’s not like Bucky outright hated the cold. He did enjoy winter, to some extent at least. His second favorite season, believe it or not, solely because ninety percent of his wardrobe still consisted of leather jackets and plain black shirts, which were usually too hot to wear any other time of the year.

He respected it, from afar. Up close, snow sucked.

The cold never really bothered him much to begin with; he’d found that out when they were younger and he’d run outside in shorts while the snow kept falling down, much to his mother’s distress. Steve always called him crazy. Bucky said he must’ve just gotten use to it. Steve was the one that had issues with the cold, rather. Steve and his sensitive skin, shivering when it was seventy degrees outside (" _Buck_ ," he'd whine, " _get back under the covers, I’m fuckin’ freezing_ ", and then that’s how Bucky’d wind up being fifteen minutes late to work, _again_ ).

When they were younger, Bucky'd always tease Steve, throwing his hands under his shirt if he'd been outside for too long, or casually drop an ice cube or two down the back of his neck. Sure, maybe not the nicest thing in the world to do to your boyfriend. But, hey, Steve still put up with him after all these years for some reason, and now he was going to be marrying him. So Bucky really wasn't the one at fault in this situation.

“There’s already gonna be a snowstorm, Steve. Guess we should’ve stayed a couple days longer…” Though he _sa_ _ys_ that, but he doesn’t want to be in goddamn Indiana anymore. He _missed_ New York.

Steve stretched his arms above his head, not before setting Bucky’s phone down. “It’s almost December, Buck, what did you expect?”

“A warm welcome,” he pointedly announced. “Er, _warmer_ at least.”

“What, twenty six degrees ain’t warm enough for you?” Steve smirked. He glared at him. Steve looking so overtly content, growing grin so shit-eating that he wanted to shove him out of the car and drive all the way home _himself_ , and himself alone. But he wouldn’t do that because then he’d be sad, and he needed Steve.

“It is for me, don’t know about you though.” Bucky spat. Steve’s smile faltered, but it was still there.

Under all the joking and teasing, no matter how much Steve sometimes did genuinely get on his nerves and tested his patience like the pestering, rebellious child he’d always still be at heart, he knew he wouldn’t be able to survive a day without him. And though it was unspoken, it was a thing they both knew. A shared secret that went both ways (well, maybe not a _secret_ because all their friends had created a safety plan back in high school in case they ever had decided to split, because they knew it wouldn’t be pretty).

“Buck,” Steve pinched his cheek and Bucky side-eyed him. “Just think, before you know it, we’ll be back at our place. Then you can get your warm welcome. It’ll feel real toasty probably, compared to… your heater, that doesn’t want to work anymore in here. When are you gonna get that thing fixed again?”

“Never, Steve,” now it was Bucky’s turn to grin, and Steve only narrowed his eyes at him, “getting that fixed would be more expensive than just buying a new car,” before he snickered. “But, I _know_ ,” he dreamily sighed, shoving his phone into his back pocket as he unfastened his seat belt and hopped onto his feet. God, they were sore and his knees cracked _, again_ , but it felt good to stand. Sort of. He still would’ve preferred laying down, but beggars can’t be choosers. “I’ve missed our bed. And our sheets, even though you haven’t washed them in like, a month.”

Steve rounded over to Bucky’s side as he locked the car. He slung his arm around Steve’s shoulders, and at least his body heat was a little bit comforting. “Why the hell is that _my_ responsibility?”

“‘Cause,” he shrugged with one shoulder, “you’re the one that insisted on buying everything in navy. Those damn Egyptian cotton sheets that costed two hundred fuckin’ dollars.”

“Oh, don’t diss the sheets. You just said how much you liked them, you’re going to make them feel bad.”

“They aren’t here, are they? What the sheets don’t know won’t hurt them, Steve. Not washing them, however, will.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Steve held up a finger as Bucky fiddled with his keys until he unlocked the back door for them, letting Steve go in first. The air was warm and crisp and there was a lingering smell of roast beef or something, whatever they’d been cooking that night. The restaurant had closed about an hour ago, and usually everyone would’ve finished cleaning by then, but he knew Quill or Kraglin always stayed behind a few hours after. Bucky sometimes thought Quill just  _lived_ there, because it’s not like he ever saw him leave.

As Bucky turned a corner to walk into their back office, and rifled through the tall filing cabinet (that was full of sticky notes that no one ever bothered to take down, and a few random photos of animals and _Pokemon_ ), he pulled out a manila folder with _‘James’_ and a few extra doodles crudely scribbled on it. Steve was watching him from the doorway, and he continued, “It’s _my_ responsibility to wash them, every time, because I picked out the colors for our bedroom?”

“Yeah. S’how it works, Stevie,” Bucky hummed, sliding a closed envelope into his back pocket. He shut the drawer and spun around on his heel, walking over to Steve to cup his jaw with both hands, thumb parting his lower lip. “Was part of the contract, remember?”

“ _What_ contract?”

“Contract that came with dating me.”

“I never got this contract.”

“Eh. Little too late for that now anyways.”

“You think?” Steve cupped his hand over Bucky’s and they both glanced at his ring, Steve softly chuckling through his nostrils. “But, hold on. So, if we ever _do_ have kids, I’m gonna be stuck on diaper duty because I pick out what kind of onesies they wear in the morning?”

“You catch on so quick,” Bucky cooed, patting Steve on the ass before he stepped around him, nodding back towards the door. “C’mon, I’m dying to kick up my feet and relax for a second before we gotta get back to,” he waved his hand loosely before Steve took it into his own, “this, tomorrow.”

“Sounds good, Buck. I’ll try to wash the sheets tomorrow too, okay?”

Bucky tilted his head from side to side. He ruffled his fingers through Steve’s mess of hair, barking out a laugh, “nah, I got it. It’s fine.”

“Oh my God, jackass,” Steve huffed, “I said I’d do it.”

“And _I’m_ offering to do it, Steven.”

“There’s no winning with you.”

Bucky grinned before gently kissing the top of Steve’s head. “You’ve always been a winner in my books though, Steve. 

Steve rolled his eyes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 _“A— a_ week _? It’s gonna take you a week to fix our heater?”_ Bucky had his phone wedged between his ear and shoulder as he’d fiddled with the buttons of their, apparently, unresponsive thermostat. They’d been home not even five minutes and Steve was already taking their bags  _back_ to the car. It was so cold they could almost see their breaths, _inside_. 

Yeah, he didn’t mind the cold, when it was contained in its natural habitat. Outdoors. Not inside his sacred resting space where he was supposed to zone out in and eat his noodles and god dammit, why could he never catch a break.

 _“Sorry, man. We’re busy around this time of the year.”_ He heard Steve creep back into the apartment, door creaking open and felt a gust of wind as he marched into their bedroom. He watched as the lights flickered to life and listened as he rustled through their closet, muttering expletives under his (chilled) breath.

Bucky only sighed. _“What are we supposed to do then, just freeze to death?”_

“ _We’ll try to send someone out there by Thursday, at the latest. But there’s nothing I can do for you right now. I_ am _sorry. You’re not the only one dealing with this problem tonight."_

Then, Steve peaked his head out, looking at Bucky. He was holding a pair of slippers, had some of Bucky’s sleep pants slung over his shoulder, and he’d whispered, “ _what about your mom’s house_?”

“ _My mom_ …” he pulled the phone away, scratching at his chin. “ _Well, they did get back yesterday._ ”

And that’s how they wound up stuck in Bucky’s cramped car again— stuck even further as they’d been sitting in the obnoxiously long line for Chick-Fil-A for the past ten minutes— their suitcases thrown back into the trunk and now an extra overnight bag shoved in with Bucky’s work clothes and even _more_ blankets. So much for kicking back and relaxing.

“At least we’ll be able to rest soon. Despite the uh, circumstances,” Steve reasoned, reaching over to rub Bucky’s thigh. “You _did_ remember to text your mom, right?”

“‘course I did. Who do you think I am, a guy that forgets shit?” Bucky scrunched his nose at that.

“Yes.” Yeah, Steve was right.

“You make me weep, Rogers,” But, Bucky could _act_ like Steve was wrong. So he sniffled as he tried his best to nonchalantly slip out his phone and tap open his conversation with Rebecca. “I'm honestly wounded.”

“Who’re you texting?”

 **Me-** 10:09 PM

Tell mom we’re on our way over

“No one, Stevie. Just lookin’ up something. A, uh, name of someone that guy gave me, from the heating compan—”

 **Bec-** 10:09 PM

what????

His phone violently buzzed in his hand and Bucky didn’t know what he was expecting. His charade was up, though there wasn’t much of a charade to begin with. He was a decent liar, with the ordinary person— like when he’d say “ _yes, Clint, your cooking is_ awesome” or “ _no, I definitely didn’t leave the toilet seat up, what’re you talking about, Bec_ ” — not when it came to Steve. And there was that knowing smile he always got when he could sniff out Bucky’s bullshit, because he always could. He could sniff it out from a mile away, because Steve knew Bucky better than Bucky even did.

He was wearing that kind of smile that got the corners of his eyes creasing and made Bucky want to sink into his seat and curl up and tell him to go away. He wanted to groan, because why did he even waste the effort in lying to the one person that _always_ saw through his façades. But, then as Bucky kept staring at him, Steve’s smile only grew wider as he begun to laugh, toothy and his lashes fluttered and then Bucky didn’t seem to mind so much, because the embarrassment was melting away and being replaced with that familiar warmth that always radiated from Steve, and he soaked it in.

“You didn’t tell her we’re coming over, did you?”

Bucky hung his head. “No.”

“Yep. Of course.”

Bucky grabbed their bags of food, muttering a soft ‘thank you’ as he rolled up the window and tossed them onto Steve’s lap. He picked up his drink and took a long sip. “S’fine, she knows we’re coming over _now_.”

“Bless your mom’s heart. She’s been dealing with this shit for—”

“Almost twenty five years. Even before I ever met you, pal.”

“Again, bless that saint of a woman.” They both chuckled, Steve snorting before he asked, “Hey, so, that guy at your work. What was his name again?”

“Who? You mean my boss?”

“No, the guy that gave you something.”

“Oh, Kraglin?”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded.

“What about him?”

Steve waved his hand. “What _did_ he give you?”

Bucky looked at him. “Guess it doesn’t have to be a secret. I bought a camera offa him.”

“You bought a _camera_?”

“Well, a used one, yeah. He overheard me talking to Nat about us goin’ to California soon, ‘cause she came in for brunch with Pepper whenever that was, last week or something, and he asked if I’d ever want to take a camera offa his hands.”

“Is it a good one at least?”

“I mean, it was an expensive as hell model when Nikon released it. Er, six years ago.”

“ _Six_ years ago.”

“Steve, it works fine. He said he couldn’t resell it anywhere anyways ‘cause it has some funky buttons and a cracked screen that wouldn’t be worth fixing, so it was only a coupla of bucks.”

“How _many_ bucks, Buck?”

Bucky stared at him as they pulled up to a red light. “Don’t. I _hate_ when you do that.”

Steve snickered but stared at him expectantly.

“S’like ninety five dollars, Stevie. It’s fine. We’ll get a lot of good use out of it, trust me.”

“You say that about _every_ expensive thing you buy. And you know what always happens?”

“What, Steve? What happens?”

“You _never_ use them. You remember when you went through that Tamagotchi phase and spent like, sixty dollars on that special edition one?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Or the time you bought those overpriced headphones because you wanted to, and I quote,” Steve deepened his voice, which only made it raspier and sound like he had a massive cold, “ _‘look like a rich fucker so no one comes up to me and talks to me in public anymore, Steve’_.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dissing on my  _Beats_ , boy.”

“Tell me, Buck, you even know where they are?”

“Yeah, of course. In our apartment.”

“ _Where_ in our apartment?”

Bucky scratched the back of his head. “Somewhere. Steve, I’ll use them, seriously. I _have_ used them, I just don’t go out enough to use ‘em a lot, and they hurt my ears sometimes at home.”

“And yet you bought them to wear _in_ public.” Steve snorted. “Excuses, excuses. God, don’t even get me started on those hideous Gucci slides—”

“Okay, _alright_. I make a lot of stupid financial decisions. A _lot._ Rest assured I won’t for awhile ‘cause now we gotta get our stupid heater fixed. And, well, _after_ California, rather. Not like I didn’t just get a raise anyways.”

Steve huffed. “I still don’t know how much you spent on this.” He couldn’t look at Steve, but he knew the item in question.

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out. You love it though, don’t you?”

“I love it because it came from you. I would’ve settled for a ring pop even.”

Then Bucky gave him a deadpan stare, because now, he couldn’t help it. “Should’ve told me that _before_ I burned a hole in my wallet at that damn store.”

Steve laughed again. “Wait… so _why_ can't you fix the goddamn heater in your own car again? Because you bought a _camera_ , is what you meant to say?”

“Priorities, babe.” Bucky puckered his lips. “Hey. You aren’t ever worried about that anymore, are you?”

“What? Money?”

Bucky nodded.

Steve shifted around in his seat, sighing. “I mean, subconsciously, yeah. The fear of having nothing again is still there. Probably always will be. I know we got our savings and backup plans, and you know I’m just teasing you. You’re _pretty_ responsible with money,” Steve scrunched his nose at him. “But I think growing up poor just… always sticks with you.”

“I told you, you could’ve always come to live with us.”

“I didn’t want to feel like a burden though. Was already enough of a burden to my ma, making her work three jobs and overtime just to get us through the weeks.”

“Steve, Jesus, don’t say that,” Bucky flicked his tongue out, dragging it across his own lips. They were both so flooded with their own insecurities. No wonder they were a great match. “You weren’t a burden to your mom, and you sure as hell know you weren’t for me or my family either. Weren’t and _still_ aren’t.”

Steve reached for Bucky’s hand. “That the real reason you’d split me your sandwich at lunch?”

“Nah. Told you, I could never finish it all. Got full easily.” Bucky winked. “Yeah, Steve. You’d worry me sick sometimes when you’d come to school, looking about ready to eat a desk. You’re the reason I signed up to work at that shithole of a video rental store the day I turned sixteen, you know.”

“I’m sorr—”

“ _Steve_ ,” he shushed him. “ It’s a _good_ thing. I’m saying— I worked there so I could save up. For us. For you.”

“For us,” he echoed.

Bucky nodded. “For our dates. Movie tickets and fresh bouquets of larkspur ain’t cheap, bud,” Bucky gently laughed, and there was a sense of familiarity across Steve’s face from the nostalgia. “And well, I started an early fund for… if we ever moved in together. ‘cause I wanted to be ready and make sure we could really _do_ it.”

“Always thinking ahead.”

“Don’t really think it was too presumptive of me, since we were gonna move in together anyways. Romantic partners or not, you were always gonna be my partner in crime.”

The only sound that filled the car was now the insistent clicking of the cars blinkers. Bucky started to drum his fingers, nails duly tapping into the vinyl covering of the steering wheel. But when Steve said, “Buck,” he instantly stopped.

“Yeah?”

“You really don’t think you’ll ever get sick of me?”

His brows furrowed and it felt like the corners of his mouth were being weighed down by sandbags. “Where’s that coming fr—”

“No. Just answer the question. Don’t ask me anything.”

Bucky took in a slow breath through his nostrils. “‘course not, Steve. You’re my right hand man. My best friend. The guy I wanna start, and end, all my adventures with.”

Steve nodded, but he didn’t say anything. His lips were tightly sealed, and the moment lingered and left the air feeling stale (not just because the windows were rolled up). So, Bucky reached over to pull one of the bags off of Steve’s lap, because that was the first thing he could think of doing, but then fingers curled around his wrist and brushed the hairs on his arm, and he met Steve’s eyes. Dammit Barnes, focus on the road. But he couldn’t because he was too transfixed on Steve, like always.

“Hold on,” he murmured, pulling into the parking lot of the first liquor store he could spot. The parking lot was almost as dark as the night sky, lacking cars and the open sign of the shady looking building flickered enough to give someone a seizure.

Steve craned his neck. “This ain’t your mom’s house.”

“Yeah, I know. I just need a second,” he leaned over to unfasten Steve’s seat belt, pulling on his shoulder. He set the bags down in the backseat. “Come here.”

And so he slowly slid Steve onto his lap. His arms were dangling either side of his shoulders, and he could see the faint flush of Steve’s cheeks as he ducked his head, snickering. Bucky gripped his chin, lifting his head so he could meet those clouded blues again. He knew he was smiling too, he could feel it, and when Steve kissed him, it only made the muscles in his face ache further.

“Remember doin’ this when we couldn’t get any privacy at home?”

“What, pulling into random parking lots of movie theaters and sketchy looking places— like this?” Steve leaned closer to kiss him again. “Remember it all too well. All the late nights at the libraries and behind our school and on your roof after your mom had gone to sleep for the night.”

Bucky dragged his fingers up through Steve’s hair, soft to the touch, and he cupped the back of his head. Those lines under his eyes were really something. He hadn’t seen him look _this_ worn out since— the last day they’d seen Sarah.

“Stevie,” he hushed between another kiss, “you’re not too worn out from the weekend, right? Like you’re gonna be okay tomorrow at work?” He rubbed his nose against the side of his neck. “You feel a little— too warm.”

“I’m fine, Buck. Yeah, I’m worn out. But I’m glad we went. Seriously.”

“You’re still gonna be up for our big trip next month too?”

“Duh,” Steve laughed. “Wouldn’t miss that for the world. Bucky, god dammit, it’s seriously _so_ cold in here.” He rested his head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“You know what, I’ll get it fixed. Alright? It’s settled. A Christmas present to myself, from myself.”

“Thank you. You’re the best,” he yawned so close to him that it made the hairs on his neck raise. “I’m still so cold _right_ _now_ though.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked to the back of his head. He slipped a hand under the many layers of tops Steve wore, took him almost a minute to find his bare skin, but he did, finally. “Is that a challenge, Steve? Want me to warm you up right now?”

“Maybe,” but the way Steve was looking at him definitely looked like a challenge, the way he was biting his lip.

“Alright," he gave him a hearty pat above the waistband of his jeans, "then, good for you, we’ll be at my ma’s house in less than five minutes. So, get off me and we can get there faster.”

Steve groaned. “I take it back. You're the actual worst.”

“I know,” Bucky said into a kiss.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Why’re you here again?” Rebecca peaked her head out from behind the front door. Bucky could only groan, his eyes flicking up towards the sky. It was only getting darker, and  _colder_ , not to mention, and now there were tiny flecks of snow that were catching all over his jacket, which was just great.

“Move, or I’ll move you myself. Don’t got time for this, Bec, it’s fuckin’ freezing out here.”

"Thought you didn't mind the cold, Buck," Steve murmured, but Bucky only flicked his side.

"Shush, you."

She forced a dramatic gasp, covering her mouth with her hand. “James!” Then she tsked, wagging her finger— which gave Bucky the opportunity to grab her wrist and shove her aside, forcing the door open.

“Why’re you such a brat?”

“I don’t know, why’re you such a jerk?”

“Alright you two, that’s enough,” Bucky’s mom came rounding the corner. She brushed her fingers through Bucky’s hair and then Steve’s. “Hi James. And Steve, sweetheart. Are you both okay?”

Steve nodded, waving at her. “Yeah. Our… our heat is out.”

“And we just got back home, _maybe_ an hour ago.”

“That sucks,” Rebecca teased, but Bucky only grunted.

“Do you ever shut up?”

Steve looped his arm with Bucky’s. “We’ve just had a long day, is all.”

“Tell me about it. First we made friends with the fuckin’ blue lady and then, you know what, just as we were leaving Indiana, we made a pit stop for gas and this deer comes dashing out of nowhere, with this goddamn wild fuckin’ turkey chasing it, and they just run through the gas station and everyone was acting like that’s completely normal.”

“Oh, James,” his mother closed her eyes with a smile on her face.

“Sorry, but, you heard Steve. S’been a long day, sometimes it just— slips out.”

“Wait, the blue lady _who_?” Both of them turned around, looking at Charles, who had been quietly reading something on the couch.

“Buck insisted we sleep in a _haunted hotel_ in this ghost town, because he said it would be _so_ much fun.”

“It was fun!”

“Until the light turned on by itself,” Steve smacked his bicep.

“Oh, there’s no such things as ghosts.” Rebecca said, matter-of-factly.

“You weren’t there, Bec. You didn’t see, or feel, the sh— stuff we did.”

“I don’t want to know what you and Steve were… feeling.”

Bucky choked, felt his hands clench up and was about to open his mouth for a retort when Steve tugged on his sleeve, kissing his cheek. “Sweetheart, c’mon. We can go eat in bed like a couple of bums and watch something. Think our foods frozen by this point, but...”

Bucky looked back towards his mom. “You don’t mind us staying a few days, do you?”

“Of course not, honey. You know I never do.”

“Thanks ma,” he kissed her cheek. Their suitcases were still unpacked and shoved into the corner of the living room. He jabbed a thumb in Charles’ direction. “He been staying here since you got back too?”

“Yes, and he’ll be staying here until we find a place to move into.”

“I see— wait, you what — _we_?!”

Steve was tugging on Bucky’s elbow, pulling him towards the stairs. “You can yell at her about it in the morning, Buck. Relaxation time first.”

Rebecca stuck her tongue out at him.

 

* * *

 

 

If there wasn't a way before to angrily brush your teeth, then Bucky invented it. He had his fist clenched around a tube of toothpaste, squeezing it like a stress toy and Steve was cautiously watching him as he leaned against the bathroom wall, waiting for toothpaste to burst everywhere like a can of beans.

Rebecca moving in with a guy. Pft. That'd been a joke she'd made countless times before, something his family had teased about after _they'd_ moved in together. Like Jesse joking about Rebecca getting married too. It was all a joke still. Rebecca was still this tea party loving little girl in his mind that liked to run down to the river and collect frogs so she could play princess (but their mom never let her kiss them, even though she'd usually throw a tantrum.)

She'd go back to that— playing pretend. None of this could be _permanent_. Right? Except, well, maybe it wasn't because she sounded pretty serious and he knew their dating wasn't just a couple of kids messing around, but _serious_ too.

Bucky's knuckles had turned white by this point. He'd let go of the toothpaste to opt for gripping the edge of the sink instead, his mouth nothing but foam. His tongue burnt from mint and the faucet was blasting water, the sink filling up halfway because the pipes were a bit wonky and you weren't _supposed_ to leave the water running, but Bucky did it anyways. And then his breath caught. The water stopped. Everything was far too quiet. Steve met his eyes in the mirror.

“She’s not a kid anymore, Buck," Steve's voice was hushed, almost like he didn't want to break the, uncomfortable, silence between them. They hadn't really spoke much since they got upstairs— first Bucky's mouth was too busy scarfing down burgers and fries because hell, the man was hungry. Starved even, he'd say so himself.

And then after watching three episodes of _Finding Bigfoot_ , and feeling mixed feelings about the situation (with Rebecca, Bucky deep down knew bigfoot was real and honestly, finding a squatch in person was #3 on his bucket list), he didn't have much to offer to Steve.

“I _know_ that, but it don’t mean she’s gotta move _in_ with the guy," Bucky grumbled.

“We live together.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, spitting into the sink. He ran his mouth under the faucet for a second, letting cold water run down his throat. He wiped the corners of his mouth with the back of his wrist, dropping his toothbrush down against the sink.

“That’s different.”

“How?”

"Because!" He yelled, and it echoed. Steve's eyes widened and his brows lowered.

Bucky knew he shouldn't get frustrated over this. Shouldn't be mad Rebecca was moving out, because she really _wasn't_ a kid anymore. She was a grown adult with a job and a life, and didn't need to be watched over anymore like a baby bird. If their mom was okay with her leaving the nest, maybe she really was ready to stretch her wings and fly someplace new.

And Bucky knew damn well he shouldn't be getting upset with Steve, of all people. Steve was an only child, as was Sarah. He never had any younger (or older, for that matter) cousins he had to look after. Never was an uncle or an aunt, didn't have any either. He didn't get what it was like to have a sibling that you basically had to help raise yourself.

“Because," he took in a deep breath and tried again, keeping his voice level. "Bec’s my little sister, she’s— she’s not supposed to be growing old and moving in with some guy, Steve.”

“You like him though, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sure, but that’s not the _point_.”

Steve walked over to him, brushing his fingers over Bucky’s and he felt his chest untighten. He sighed. “The point is, we’re all getting old, Buck. And that’s okay.”

“Is it, though? Is it really? So much is changing, I just—” he shook his head. He felt like the room was becoming a tilt-a-whirl and he was going to spin right off. “It’s a lot.”

“Buck,” Steve pushed up on his tippy toes, his arms lacing loosely around his neck. His blues were locked with his own before he grew closer, stealing a chaste kiss. “That’s life. That’s what happens.”

“I know, Steve. But it’s weird. It feels like just yesterday we were still,” he laughed under his breath, “running around in the grass, hitting each other with sticks and shit.”

“And now we’re hitting each other with wedding vows and tax returns. Isn’t being an adult great?”

"It's great sometimes." He brushed Steve's bangs from his face. “I really wouldn’t be able to do this without you kid. Er, by this, I mean this life thing.”

Steve's gaze darted away before settling back on Bucky. He sucked in his bottom lip, worrying it with his front teeth. “You ever think about that?”

“Think about what, Stevie?”

“You know,” Steve shrugged.

“If we never met?”

Steve nodded. And then Bucky snorted. Not derisively, but because yes. He had. Countless of times. And if he _had_ been keeping count, the number of times that thought had passed through his brain would probably be in the thousands.

“All the time. And it terrifies me, ‘cause what’re the chances of me meeting my life partner on the fucking playground ‘cause he was getting the shit kicked out of him.”

Steve's lip twitched before he was smiling again, fingers playing the roots of Bucky's hair. “And what’re the chances of my resecurer being the love of my life?”

“For a fairytale? One out of five. Real life? One in a million.”

“I’m glad we met.”

“Me too, Steve. Really fuckin’ glad.” Suddenly, his feet felt noticeably cold. And bare. He looked down, wiggling his toes against the linoleum tiling under them. Steve was all comfortable in his slippers, again layered in sweaters and sweatpants. And Bucky was wearing an old band shirt and his boxers, in the winter. _His_ choice, but he could still be grumpy about it.

As comfortable as he was beginning to feel with letting his feelings out around Steve, it still opened up some inevitable pit in the bottom of his stomach that made him scared. Made him feel like if he said too much, he wouldn't be able to _stop_ and then he'd just be spilling everything he'd been holding in since he was six years old to Steve, and he didn't want that. Or, rather, he wasn't quite ready for that, was the better way to word it. He did want to tell Steve more about his dad. Tell him how much it hurt that Sarah was gone. Tell him how scared he really was for the future.

But, baby steps. And for now, masking his anxiety with humor seemed to work enough.

"Hey," he nudged him. "You didn't bring me some of those, did you?"

Steve laugh left him like he'd had the air punched out of him, his head falling against Bucky’s chest. “Maybe.”

“You… bring my Guccis, Steve?”

Steve groaned, letting go of Bucky with a shove. He shuffled over to their duffel bag, placed on top of the toilet. He slowly unzipped it and it was almost like he was taunting him, peering over his shoulder as he held up a pair of black sides, their print just as obnoxious as Bucky last remembered them to be, making him nearly squeal in excitement.

“Oh, my ugly ass overpriced dad sandals! I’ve never been happier to see something in my life, Steve, thank you so much.”

Then, Steve set them down, putting a hand on his hip, and that's when Bucky gulped. Ah shit. “You’re happier to see a dumb pair of slides than _me_? Me, who you just called your life partner? Me, your lovely, devoted, and may I add, highly intelligent, boyfriend, now fiancè, of eight years?”

“Yes.” Bucky replied, flat, quickly grabbing them and tossing them to the ground. He slid his feet into them, sighing blissfully. “Oh, my babies, how I’ve missed you.”

“I’m taking away your credit card.”

“Why, so I can’t buy you a matching pair?”

“ _Yes_.”

Bucky snorted, nudging him on the shoulder until he started walking down the hallway, back into Bucky’s tiny room.

“Don't spoil my Christmas gift for you, Steve!”

“That's  _not_ your gift.”

“Well, it's definitely not _now._ ”

He closed the door behind them, twisting the lock as Steve dropped their back on top of their larger suitcase. Steve tossed himself on the bed, and all he could hear was the frame aggressively creak, Steve whispering, "Whoops."

The bed was old, and hardly big enough for one person. Same bed Bucky'd had since he was thirteen. His mom never figured to get rid of it, which was smart because these occurrences of them randomly showing up and begging to stay over weren't exactly rare. Bucky dug through his backpack, slipping out his laptop before he flicked off the overhead lights. He crawled in next to Steve, tossing the covers over them as he logged in and opened up Netflix. Steve curled into his side, head tucked against his shoulder.

“You still up for watching something else, or are you ready to pass out?”

“Getting there," Steve yawned. "But I’m not gonna sleep yet.”

He awkwardly craned his neck to kiss the top of Steve's head. “What do you wanna watch?”

“ _Beetlejuice_?”

“Ah _, Beetlejuice,_ huh?” Bucky repeated.

Steve warned, “Bucky."

“What?" He grinned. "Oh, Steve, I won’t say _Beetlejuice_ again.”

Then Steve slapped his stomach, which he knew he deserved. “Bucky!”

“Oh, woops. Sorry. Don’t worry, honey. I’ll protect you, promise.”

“That’s what you always say. But then you let ghosts talk to me and shove me in front of monsters at haunted houses, and jump out at me and give me heart attacks and—”

“Love you, Steve,” he put a finger over his lips. “Very much.”

Steve looked at him, but he was smiling too. “Sometimes I think you say that just to shut me up.”

“While you’re very right, it doesn’t make the sentiment any less true.”

With a loud click, he loaded up the movie. Bucky'd always been a fan of Tim Burton's style; his favorite movies were _Alien_ , _The Thing_ , and _Edward Scissorhands_ after all. He enjoyed suspense, when it was done well in movies, a good soundtrack, and memorable costumes, something modern movies couldn't always promise. That's why he always preferred to read old SciFi pulps from the thirties when he needed a good 'ol fix of discovery and terror.

Steve shifted next to Bucky, wiggling around until he cuddled closer to him and settled down. He wrapped his arm around Bucky's torso. "Hey."

"Hey," Bucky squeezed his hand.

"You're okay though, right, Buck?"

The corners of his lips twitched. What a difficult question that was at times. "Yeah, Steve. I'm okay."

"Okay, good. You'd tell me if you weren't?"

Bucky nodded. "'course, Steve." He was so focused on ignoring Steve's stare, intently examining the screen that had just become blurred pixels to him because he'd zoned out so much, that when Steve closed the laptop, he jumped.

The room was dark and now Steve was gripping his chin, forcing him to look at him. Steve had this expectant expression in his eyes. Bucky's lashes flicked against his cheeks. And that's when he could feel a crack forming. His breath hitched and his eyes stung, and then everything felt sweltering hot and his face was wet.

"No. No, I'm not okay, Steve."

That's all he'd needed to say. But those words were more difficult to admit than they should've been. He wasn't okay. He was overwhelmed and lost, and there was that urge to just duck under the covers and shut out reality again.

"Tell me. What's going on in that head of yours?"

Bucky laughed, but it fell flat and only sounded sad. "Why's that sound like something a therapist would say outta a cheesy nineties movie?"

Steve groaned. "I'm not trying to play therapist. Just trying to show you my love and support."

"That sounds like something a therapist would say to—"

"Stop," Steve brushed his thumb over his jawline. "I'm just trying to find out _why_ you're crying. Can you please tell me?"

"Well, Steve, maybe it's because everything freaks me the fuck out and I'm only now processing things."

"Define everything."

Bucky took in a deep breath. "We're engaged, which is amazing and I love you so goddamn much, but it's also like— crazy, because that means we _are_ getting older and I still got no damn clue what I want to do in life. And then, your— your mom's not going to be here to see us get married and— if I'd just fucking sucked it up and proposed when she was still alive, she could've seen it and—"

"Bucky," Steve shook his head, kissing him. His lips were soft and the taste of salt on them was mutual. "She'll be there with us. Yeah, I know, not _physically_. But I feel like some part of her is gonna always be with us, even though she ain't here anymore."

Bucky sniffed, biting his inner cheek. "I know when we should do it."

"You do?"

Bucky nodded. "Yeah."

"Are you going to tell me, or is my own wedding going to be a surprise…?"

"October 16th."

Steve watched him for a long moment before his face lit up. "I like that."

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was only thirty minutes after they’d gotten back to their _Beetlejuice_ adventure (won’t say it three times again, pinky swear), that Bucky found himself having a hard time focusing on anything other than Steve’s soft snores. He tuned out Winona Ryder’s excessive pleading to her parents about ‘ghosts’ and what not (which was totally relatable), and instead found himself more relaxed by those light rasps.

Knowing that Steve was right next to him and okay. If he was okay, Bucky was going to be okay too, because that’s just how it worked. Or at least, that’s how he coped. He always told himself, if Steve is doing okay, then you’ll be fine too, because  you have _him_ and _he’s_ what matters, not you.

Though he couldn’t help but feel some sort of jealousy for the fact that he could actually sleep. Yeah Bucky was damn tired, sore to his bones, but now with thoughts about the _future_ popping up uninvited and invading his mind in every which way, he was far too pent up to try to rest.

He shut his laptop for a second time that night and carefully swerved around to rest it against the nightstand and not wake Steve up (because if he _did_ wake him up, he knew what was coming; a slap to the face, which he probably also deserved anyways).

So admitting defeat and tugging Steve closer, he pulled out his phone and wrapped his arms around his back, using Steve’s shoulder as a pillow. It was an awkward position but at least the screen would be out of his sight, and now Bucky wouldn’t just be destined with staring at the wall for another six hours.

He nearly dropped the thing as he tried to adjust the brightness, but he managed. He didn’t even know what to do at first. Visiting some random sites sounded fine, but also not. That was a bit… boring.

He tapped YouTube open, and that’s when he fell down the rabbit hole he was quite familiar with at this point: it always started with cute animal videos, of ferrets bouncing around in playpens (god did he want a ferret, but Steve always said no because he didn’t want to get stuck taking care of it by himself) and ducks running through Home Depot on a day out.

But then as he delved further into his recommendations, he found himself jumping around from news bloopers to ASMR videos that mainly consisted of homemade slime and foam being crushed (yeah, Bucky didn’t get it either), to: lifestyle vloggers.

Videos of people with the camera turned on themselves, documenting their everyday lives. What kind of drinks they got at Starbucks (which made Bucky remember when Becca used to work at Starbucks and brought him home whatever kind of frappuccino he wanted every day… those were dark times), going to the grocery store to buy, well, groceries but still making it seem like it was the best thing ever.

It was already five in the morning by the time he dimmed his screen and yawned. His eyes were starting to close, he could feel himself being pulled into a sea of dreams when— shit, they had a new camera didn’t they.

His eyes flicked back open and he looked over his shoulder. They _did._ And Kraglin said it filmed pretty well too. And, Bucky had some editing software because he use to make music videos in high school of him and— well, details aren’t important, but he knew the basics of filming and Sony Vegas.

But, who the hell would watch videos of him and Steve? These other vloggers got views in the millions, had thousands of devoted fans that would watch their new videos every week and even buy merchandise with the stars’ logos and faces on them.

Maybe this is what he’d been missing all this time. The dream he’d been chasing after that he couldn’t figure out before. His true life calling— a YouTube vlogger.

Bucky cackled out loud, right in Steve’s ear, and the blond kicked him in the shins without hesitation.

“Be quiet,” he slurred. Bucky tried to bite his lip.

No, but it did sound like fun. Maybe he’d give a try, even though the concept _was_ pretty ridiculous. He was sure Steve would laugh just as hard at him. Whatever, he’d find out his reaction in the morning.

He kissed right under Steve’s ear, hushing, “Sorry.”

“Go to bed.”

“I am.”

“Good,” Steve sighed against his skin. “Night Bucky.”

“Night, Stevie.”

“Love you.”

He traced his fingers down his back and felt Steve shiver under his touch. “Love you too.”

 

 

* * *

 


	17. Mittens

_Knock knock._

"James?" Winifred's voice carried through the door, because let’s admit it, everyone in the Barnes household was quite loud (and outspoken for that matter). And though Bucky wasn't exactly a light sleeper— he’d slept through his share of thunderstorms in the past— his mother's voice still made his ears tickle in that same way that his morning alarm did; it was an annoying sort of sound that also got him panicking and wanting to crawl under the covers in hopes of _just_ five more minutes.

So, the first thing he did when he was awake: he closed his eyes again, tightly. His face scrunched and, it felt like his muscles had strained to the point of knotting, but anything to not be awake, at least just yet. He mostly didn’t want to be up because, he hadn’t really _registered_ where he was yet.

You know when you sleep over at a friend, or distant relatives house, and for the first few seconds of being awake, you completely forget where you are? That lingering feeling that, everything feels new and this _isn’t_ the bed you’re use to— and in Bucky’s case, lying in his old bed in his old room, with Steve scooped up in his arms and mom peeking her head in.

He knew where he was, but he was expecting his mom to barge into the room and yank them out of bed by their feet, shouting about how they were gonna be late for school, _again_. Too many times had they missed the bus (mainly due to poor choice all nighters playing through their collection of incomplete PS2 games) and Bucky had to speed them down residential roads.

There was another knock, another “James?” but only slightly louder. Bucky grunted in response, tugging Steve closer. He buried his nose in the nook of his neck and Steve sighed in response (though the noise intermingled with his still consistent snoring), felt his fingers clumsily thread through his locks.

 _Creak_.

That. His door opening. Stirred pure dread in the pit of his stomach, and the still air of the room was replaced with a quick filling draft of cold. The smell of coffee was stagnant.

Against his internal sluggish responses of ‘just ignore her and she might go away’, Bucky peeked over his shoulder, out of pure curiosity (and the smell of coffee brewing sort of did it for him). He kept one eye open, though heavily squinted, but he could see his mom staring back at him.

“Five more minutes,” he slurred, like it was out of instinct. Er, because it _was._

"What?" Winifred was clearly holding back a chuckle, her tone gone soft. But Bucky shook his head, his nose only nuzzling against Steve’s skin (who tangled his fingers further into his roots).

"I don't—" he blinked. Once and twice, until everything was a blurred mass around him. The sun was making the room a bright white and he was _not_ ready for that yet. "Not ready to get up yet."

“Sweetheart,” now she was chuckling and it made Bucky’s jaw clench, “I don’t want to wake you up yet, but—” then her voice grew so quiet that Bucky strained to pick up on her words, like she was almost mouthing them to him (but everything was still an out of focus mess, so he was shit at that game currently) “Is Steve still…?”

Without finishing the question, he knew what she was trying to ask. She clearly needed him for something (and probably used the coffee as a bribery factor, in fact, he _knew_ that was her method of bribing him, always coffee or some sort of homemade food), and though he felt like death and wanted to keep dreaming, he carefully wiggled himself free from the covers.

His throat felt overly dry and he winced when he saw Steve glance up at him through thick lashes. Their bed was a disaster. Well, the whole room was, rather. Clothes piled on the floor, sheets tossed around, laptop shoved into a corner of the bed.

Bucky shook his head, tossing a plush blanket over Steve’s slender shoulders, tucking him in. “Go back to bed, Stevie. Ain’t time to wake up yet.”

“Okay,” he said hazily through a yawn, flipping over onto his side, back facing Bucky. He looked back at his mother, tiptoeing his away out of the room before closing the door shut with a faint _click._

He rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye, and he felt like he couldn’t run his hands across his face enough. He was still in a drowsy state where he felt like he was floating and any second now, his mom would grow two heads and chase him down the halls until he’d wake up screaming (he had weird dreams most of the time). But as far as he knew, he was in reality-land. And _not_ late for school, thank God.

“What’s up?”

“I made your favorite— dark roast.” She said with a smile, and Bucky’s right hand paused, stuck in place like a temporary blinder. He _knew_ it. Of course it was a trap. It was always a fucking trap.

“And the task I gotta do in turn is…?”

“I made bacon too,” she added. She was already making her way down the stairs and Bucky didn’t have any other choice but to follow her; she kept looking back at him, stopping every few steps to make sure he was coming.

And when he got down to the living room, he was greeted by the sight of Rebecca, leaning against the handle of a snow shovel with Charles zipping up a puffy mustard yellow coat. He nearly growled in the back of his throat.

Rebecca’s posture straightened the minute she saw Bucky, a lopsided (devilish, shit eating, mocking, all of these descriptives applied to the look of pure satisfaction that she wore) smirk. “Oh good! You _are_ awake.”

“What the hell is this…”

“Hey,” Charles offered a small wave, like he was hesitant even. He was the complete opposite of Rebecca; he seemed to actually be shy, and almost _ashamed_ that they were all gathered around in the living room at— Bucky wasn’t even sure what time it was.

“S’what times it?”

“Quarter past seven,” his mom added, making her way from the kitchen with a steaming cup of joe in her hand (and now in Bucky’s). The warmth of the cup didn’t make up for his discomfort at being woken up at, apparently _seven in the goddamn morning_ , surrounded by a bunch of people in winter _coats and fucking snow shovels._

“Anyone wanna tell me _why_ I was summoned down here?” he took a gulp from his mug and the hot liquids soothed his body, for a second. Until Charles opened his mouth: “We got a uh,” he adjusted his glasses, peering out the fogged up window in the front door, “snow storm last night.”

Bucky groaned, again, and this time, pointedly. Right. Shitty winter come early, as his phone had warned him. He should’ve seen this coming. “So I’ve heard.”

Charles nodded. “It’s pretty bad. Eight inches, I guess they’ve been saying.”

“I’ve seen bigger. Oh, you mean the _snow_ ,” Bucky began cracking up at his own joke, only one in the room that found him even remotely amusing (like usual, he was use to it by now). But as he was hunched over, bellowing out cackles more so at the disgusted reaction of his sister, he was met with a metal handle shoved forcibly against his chest, smacking all the air clean from his lungs like a dodgeball.

“Just help him plow the driveway, please. Some of us have to get to work.”

“And some of us need to— breathe, Bec, Jesus Christ,” Bucky wheezed, his knuckles white around the mug’s handle. His mom took the cup from him (with good timing, Bucky thought), cupping the nape of his neck as he still gasped like a dying fish.

“I can make scrambled eggs too, when you’re all done. Honey, are you alright?”

“No I’m not alright, this is _forced labor_ at seven in the fuckin’ morning and now I’m being _abused_ by shovels and momIdon’tneedscrambledeggs—”

“Sloooow down,” Rebecca instructed, creating a cupping motion with her hands as she inhaled. “ _Breathe_.”

“I hate you sometimes.” Bucky shook his head, stepping away from his mom. He leaned the shovel against the worn railing of the stairs, grumbling the whole time he slid his arms into, whoevers jacket he was putting on. It could’ve easily been his, or Charles, or even Rebecca’s. He didn’t know, didn’t really care either, because he was only wearing some loose sleep pants and a band t-shirt, and though he wasn’t a huge fan of constricting beanies or scarfs most of the time, he didn’t want his arms to turn blue. As cool as that would be.

“I gotta get out of here in ten minutes, so chop chop.”

“If it’s that urgent, why don’t you do it your damn self?” Bucky spat out of the side of his mouth as his fingers worked buttons shut. He stepped into his sneakers, not bothering to even tie the laces. He shoved them inside his shoes instead, his mom tsking.

“Trust me, I asked her,” Charles offered, like that made Bucky feel any less aggravated about the whole situation.

“But,” now Rebecca let him hear her part, “I figured it was a better idea if you did it.”

“And, why me?”

Rebecca gave his bicep a hearty pat “You got a mean swing.”

“You’re gonna find out in a second,” Bucky licked across his lips, fists balling in his pockets. His sister wiggled her brows in response, and oh fuck, that was it. Now she’d done it. Bucky felt fire burning within him and with just one more step, he could sling her over his shoulder like a lifeless doll and toss her out in the blizzard her damn self, lock the door and— his mom walked over, gripping the back of both of their collars, Bucky choking on air for the _second_ time in five minutes.

“I understand you’re both adults, but you sure don’t act a day over sixteen.”

“Have they always bickered like this?”

“Yes, they have,” Steve said as he padded down the stairs, arms stretched above his head.

“Aw, Stevie, why’re you still awake? Thought I told you to go back to bed.”

“I _can’t_. You’re being so fu— frickin’ loud.”

“His fault,” Rebecca sneered.

“ _My_ fault? You’re the one waking me up at seven in the goddamn morning, forcing me to shovel that white bullshit in the fucking cold—”

“Technically ma woke you up, and also… language!”

“Buck,” Steve walked over to him, straightening his collar and throwing (Steve’s own) scarf around his neck. “I gotta get to work too in a few hours, so I don’t mind being up anyways. I’ll cheer you guys on, c’mon, we can make it fun.”

Bucky snatched the, now growing lukewarm, mug from his mom, finishing off the thing in nearly two damn sips. “I doubt that.”

 

* * *

 

Every time he took a step, didn’t matter what direction he was going, hell, he didn’t have to move at all and the snow would crunch. Sounded like someone chewing on ice cubes and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up. There were only two sounds Bucky hated more than anything in the world:

1) Ice crunching. Couldn’t stand when Clint and Nat would tag along with them to the movies, on a sort of double date thing, and Clint would sit there for half an hour just chewing the remaining chunks of frozen water from his overpriced soda like they were candies. Ugh, he hated it.

2) Food smacking. This was also Steve’s pet peeve, and he _knows_ where it stemmed from. See, their little clique group thing in school, they sat at the same table every day. Others would sit there too, because, duh, they didn’t own the damn thing. But, it’s not like new people ever wanted to actually hang out with them and talk to them. Just needed somewhere to shovel in food for a second. It’s not like they were bottom tier on the social pyramid, but they weren’t the ultra popular jocks everyone wanted to talk to either. Between Bucky, the, apparently, guy that lacked any emotion other than caring about Steve (that still stung), Steve, the glasses wearing nerd that would rant about color theory out of nowhere without ever being prompted, Clint who wore the same outfit basically every day, and Tony, who was (and is) too smart for his own good— they didn’t really draw in new crowds that were excited to get to know them.

They had a lot of repeat offending bullies growing up; Hodge was the most notorious between them, though he just _loved_ to tease Steve. But, Brock Rumlow was one that took advantage of their little place of meeting. Everyday at lunch, he’d sit there at ‘their’ table, can of Coke and tray of whatever slop they’d served up that day in the cafeteria. And he’d slurp that shit down, so loudly all four of them would stare at him; not like he even seemed bothered by it, let alone looked up at them. Though he wasn’t overly vocal with his taunting, _that_ was his tactic of getting on all their nerves simultaneously. Bucky was pretty sure the last thing he’d heard about Brock was some news of his dad’s company battling some multi-million dollar lawsuit. Bucky was also pretty sure they called that karma.

But, the sound of snow breaking wasn’t like the crunch of a leaf in fall. A leaf in fall was enjoyable to listen to because it was a reminder that Halloween was right around the corner and not— not this white snow bullshit hell that he was shoveling up with Rebecca’s boyfriend that he still didn’t know what to say to.

That’s what kept him up all night. Honestly, he’d been thinking about a _lot_ of things, but the main thing circulating his inner thought race was: was Rebecca moving too fast?

Bucky really wished Steve was helping them instead of a being a lazy ass, just so he could at least start some sort of conversation with Charles that wasn’t… totally awkward. Steve was standing on the porch with Rebecca, his arms crossed.

He _did_ want to talk to the guy. He was curious about him. But Bucky didn’t know how to start that process. He felt words forming on the tip of his tongue, but they died just as quick.

So he cleared his throat, and instead of beating around the bush and engaging in some small talk about the weather or whatever, some topic he was obviously disinterested in, Bucky spoke quiet: “So, you and Bec are gonna move in together?”

It looked like Charles was almost caught off guard by that. He nodded, a little too quick, and his thin glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. “We’re planning to, at least,” he said with a cold puff of air. “We’re not quite sure _when_ that’s going to happen, though— uh, we’ve been looking around a bit in the city, outside of Brooklyn, had a long heart to heart with your mom.” Then he scratched the back of his head. “We’re sort of having a test run right now, to see how we get along being around each other twenty four seven.”

“Thinkin’ about leaving Brooklyn, huh,” it wasn’t really a question, more so a sad statement. But then Bucky found himself chuckling fondly. “I know what that’s like. The makin’ sure you’re compatible thing so you don’t actually kill each other once you’re living with one another.” He looked back towards Steve again and this time, it was mutual. He shot a smile back to him, and hell if that didn’t warm up Bucky’s skin that could’ve been mistaken for an ice cube.

“Steve and I never actually did a whole test run, as smart as that is, ‘cause we grew up together and had already practically traded off living at each others houses. But… living together, it can really change shit.”

“Change things how?”

“How you see the other person,” he looked at Charles and that protectiveness he always felt over Rebecca, like a guarded lion ready to pounce at the smallest of irritations, rose in him. But he _did_ feel a little more at ease talking to him. Talking about his little sister with some guy, because he wasn’t just some guy, just like Steve wasn’t ‘ _some guy_ ’ to Bucky. Charles was his sister’s boyfriend, and maybe it _wouldn’t_ work out in the end, only time would tell. But as of right now, it was working and it wasn’t fair for either of them for Bucky to be so… resilient to accepting that his sister was making her own decisions now.

She wasn’t a kid anymore that needed to be looked at with binoculars. Bucky wasn’t sure how his mom was actually dealing with this; when he’d moved out, she’d been a mess of tears and nostalgia as she pulled out scrapbooks she’d been building ever since they first met, full of embarrassing photos dating the years. There’d even been a few of Rebecca, after she was born, bundled up in a blanket and cradled in their mother’s arms.

Was his mother really handling Rebecca moving out better than he was…? Oh lord.

Charles was looking at him expectantly, and so Bucky cleared his throat, continuing, “She’s gonna drive you nuts at first. But you’re gonna love her more than you ever have in your life. You won’t think it’s possible, but it is.”

It was two weeks into him and Steve living at their new apartment together that Bucky slept on their couch for the first (and last) time. Only a few hours prior, they’d gotten in such a heated argument over the stupidest thing; it started with Steve teasing Bucky about how he was living out of his boxes because he _still_ hadn’t unpacked his clothes yet, which Bucky waved off as something he’d eventually do, when he had the time.

And then playful banter escalated to Steve getting on Bucky’s already stressed and tired nerves quite quick, because he started unpacking his things _for_ him, which made him feel like Steve was implying he was incompetent (which Steve scoffed and told him he’d never said that).

Somehow, that escalated further and before Bucky knew it, he was ripping shirts from Steve’s palm and nearly sandwiching his fingers between the closet doors as he slammed them shut.

He tossed a blanket around himself and curled into himself, alone, on their couch, his eyes wet and throat hoarse. He felt ashamed with himself that he’d lost his temper to the point of screaming at Steve, over nothing. And that’d also left him with the horrifying realization that, shit, maybe they really _weren’t_ fit for living together. It’d all been fun and games as they lived in their bed sheet forts and stick-constructed huts. But real life was a lot more daunting.

He’d woken up the next morning with a cramp in his neck and a stiff back. And he was sweating, a lot. He’d opened his eyes to see Steve tucked into him, stealing Bucky’s pillow. Typical.

“You start noticing all these little things about the other person that you just find… cute. Like the way they breathe at night or how they organize shit.”

Bucky’d spent far too many mornings watching Steve’s poor attempts at making them omelettes from the counter top, a dreamy smile plastered across on his face. His _favorite_ sound now was the jingle of keys, their keys; although it was rare, there’d been the occasional day Bucky had off from work, or he’d get home before Steve, and nothing was quite like hearing Steve’s (he knew what he sounded like by heart) footsteps trail down the outside hallway and jiggle their door open.

But, as quickly as Bucky found himself sucked into reminiscing again, he sucked in his lips. He was talking about _love_. Using that one strong word that, if not used carefully, would scare off any guy in an instant. “Er, you _do_ love her, right? I ain’t just jumping the gun here, am I?”

There was a pink that flooded his cheeks, creeped up his neck too, and Bucky knew it wasn’t from the sharp wind that was nipping at them. “No-no. You’re right. I do love her.”

“Have you told her that yet?”

He nodded. “She knows. And, uh, truthfully, this is— I’ve never been in a serious relationship like this before. This is… it’s all scary and new for me too.”

And again, Bucky was pulled back into sappy ‘remembering everything he’s ever felt for Steve’ mode; Steve was also the first (rather, _only_ ) relationship he’d ever been in. Only person he’d ever cared enough about that he was petrified with fear that they’d, at some point, end up switching schools or grow apart from each other. Steve was the guy that Bucky couldn’t stop daydreaming about when he was supposed to be finishing his homework — the guy who’s room he’d sneaked into countless of times through the window at night because he just _missed_ him — the kid he’d saved on the playground that he’d boasted to his aunt about for hours on end.

Realizing that he loved Steve, or rather, was _in_ love with him, was easy. He knew he’d always loved Steve; he’d loved that blond fireball of energy since the second he’d asked if he could sit with him and Clint at recess. And when he recognized that love morphed into a _dependency_ on him, a need to always be at Steve’s side and keep him smiling like that was his full time job, he accepted that without much thinking (okay, he thought about it a _lot,_ but he never argued his feelings at least).

It was a lot harder when push came to shove and the words actually left his lips; the first time he’d said those three words that had the ability of changing _everything_ in an instant, Bucky’d muttered them so bad that Steve just laughed and gawked at him, barking out _‘What_?’ between his chuckles.

The second time wasn’t as bad when that initial rush was over, and Steve was reciprocating the sentiment.

He was biting on the skin of his cheeks to keep his smile hidden, but he laughed under his breath, eyes trying to go back to focusing on the mostly cleared driveway. “How long’ve you guys been dating again? A coupla months?” then he _did_ let himself smile as he said, “Steve was my first too. First… everything.”

“You guys are- I think you’re really good for each other. I mean, obviously don’t know either of you very well, but he seems happy every time I see you guys.” Charles coughed. “Almost a year, actually.”

“A year, huh?” Bucky sucked in a long breath. He hadn’t realized it’d been _that_ long. “She’s real happy with you too, pal.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you kidding me? She doesn’t smile like that for just anyone, all bright and wide and rosy cheeked. She just does that for you, man.” Bucky pawed at the back of his head before he leaned his shovel against the side of Rebecca’s car. “Listen, Charles, I know I can be… difficult or quick to set off or whatever. I just— I get real protective over her. Growing up, we,” he pulled at his lower lip, “we didn’t have a dad growing up, y’know, and I was her big brother, the only guy in the house, ‘cept for Steve. So I feel like I have all this responsibility to, I don’t know, do the dad thing? Watch over her and make sure she isn’t bringing douchebags home.”

“She’s,” Charles shrugged, resting his own shovel next to Bucky’s, “that’s not always something we bring up, our family issues and all that, but that day we went apple picking with Steve’s mom, Becca spent the rest of the drive home telling me about your guyses dad. And, well, you. She said you were her best friend growing up.”

“That’s ‘cause she never had any other friends. I mean, she _has_ , but never anyone she stayed really close with,” Bucky snorted, but then he shook his head, sighing in contentment. “ _We_ were pretty close growing up. Up ‘til I finished the eighth grade.”

“And then you weren’t close anymore?”

“No. We still were, but, y’know. Started spending more time with Steve and our friends. Wasn’t spending as much time at home anymore, and eventually all my free time got replaced with— studying and Steve. We use to do this family thing, god it was stupid, but every Wednesday night, we’d play board games together. Steve usually came over too, with Sarah, and we’d order a pizza and play Clue for a few hours.”

“That doesn’t sound stupid at all.”

Bucky’s nose twitched. “Maybe we can bring back that tradition. Games, movies and delicious greasy food.”

“That sounds like fun, actually.”

“It does,” Bucky winked at him. “And, you know, besides Bec just liking you, it seems like my family really likes you too. Grandma seemed to _really_ have a liking for you.”

Charles ducked his head, laughing. “Oh, stop.”

Bucky clapped a hand on his shoulder. “What I’m trying to say here is—” their eyes locked and Bucky felt a flood of nerves take over, “I think you’d be a good uh, new addition to our family? To the Barneses. _Also_ , thanks for _not_ being a douchebag. I act tough, but I got a notorious losing streak when it actually comes to fighting…”

“Thank you, James.”

“Bucky.”

“Bucky,” he repeated as Bucky only tightened his grasp on him, his thumb brushing over his jacket in quick, reassuring strokes. “I’ll be honest, I’m quite familiar with getting my ass beat too. First place four years in a row at the national science fair.”

Bucky’s mouth gaped. “No shit? Me too!”

“Guess we have a lot more in common than I realized.”

“Yeah, guess so.”

Charles looked down at Bucky’s hand for a moment, and Bucky suddenly felt awkward, quickly moving his arm. But, that’s not why he was staring, apparently. “Hey, uh, are your hands supposed to be that color?”

“Huh? Oh,” he looked at them, cupping his hands to his mouth. They were bright red. “Probably not.”

Charles crossed his arms. Bucky looked at him through his lashes, lowering his hands. “Why aren’t you wearing any gloves? We’ve been out long enough that I can’t feel my _own_ fingers and I’m bundled up, what the hell.”

Bucky grimaced. “Just don’t like them.”

“You’re going to wind up getting frostbite, you know.”

“So?”

“And then your hands, they’re just gonna,” Charles shrugged, “fall off.”

“Ain’t worth trying to convince him. He’s not gonna listen to you, no matter what you say. And that goes for _anything_ ,” Steve called as he walked over to them, cupping his own hands over Bucky’s. Bucky couldn’t feel anything except pinpricks in his fingers. “Jesus, you really are freezing.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just sit on my hands for an hour, they’ll warm up.”

“He’s been like this ever since we were kids. _My_ mom would always tryta force him to take her gloves ‘cause we’d sometimes walk to school, and it’d be like, ten degrees out. But he always refused, because he’s a stubborn asshole.”

“I’ve already told you why I don’t like them.”

“Why?” Charles asked.

“They feel too tight and I can’t move. S’why I hate socks too.”

Steve shook his head. “You should get some in your _proper_ size then, idiot.”

“Nah.”

“Are you guys almost done, or what’s the commotion about?” Rebecca side-eyed her car, sighing when she took sight of the shovels using it as a nice leaning post.

“Yes, Bec, we’re done,” Bucky muttered, finding it harder and harder to bite his tongue.

And then Charles added, “We’re having a group meeting about why Bucky would rather get permanent nerve damage over wearing gloves.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. They were over exaggerating. He was _fine_ . A little cold never hurt anyone. Hell, a little cold was good! Er— okay, he forgot the ice age was a thing, and that’s sort of the reason he’d never achieve his lifetime dream of riding a woolly mammoth around town, but, _aside_ from that. The cold was… why was Rebecca looking at him like that? And why was Steve’s jaw also hanging open?

“What?” he asked, a brow quirked.

“Did… did he just call you Bucky?” Rebecca stammered.

“He did…” Steve seemed to be even more stunned than her.

“Oh,” he looked towards Charles, nodding at him (and he nodded back, communicating non verbally, sort of). “Yeah. He did. Bec,” he patted her cheek, “he’s officially part of the family now, initiated him and everything. Good job picking this one.”

“You have his blessing,” Steve looked at Charles, his voice nothing but a whisper. “Do you know how _hard_ it is to get Buck’s approval? He hates like, almost everyone.”

“He ain’t wrong,” Bucky smirked at Steve, nudging him with his elbow. Then, he felt a sudden buzz from his pocket.

“I think I’m gonna cry…”

“Me too,” Steve added.

“Okay, alright, don’t go making this a big deal or anything,” he reached to pull his phone out of his pocket, but his fingers cramped up and the thing dropped into the snow. Right into the bank of driveway snow they’d created, creating a deep, rectangular shaped indent. “Awh, fuck.”

Steve snickered, crouching to a knee to grab it, with a _gloved_ hand. As he stood up, he rubbed the phone against his own shirt, trying to dry it off first before giving it back to Bucky. “There you go, dear.”

“ _Thanks,”_ Bucky muttered with nothing but dripping sarcasm. The edges of his case were still slippery, and he felt the thing slide around in his palm again (and felt Steve staring a hole through him, probably _waiting_ for him to do it again).

“Mhm. You know,” Bucky saw Steve eyeing the shovel Bucky’d been using, the one on the right (aka, the one that was halfway falling to the ground), “I think I’ll come out of retirement for just a sec so you can go inside and warm up, okay?” There was only a small patch of snow left, under her tires, that would've taken maybe another minute or two to shovel up.

Bucky peered at his phone, fingers _burning_ anytime he dared to stretch them, or scroll down his screen. Maybe they were right after all… whatever, he still despised gloves anyways.

But on his screen was an alert, for a new message. From none other than Quill himself. He tapped the conversation open.

“How sweet," Rebecca murmured.

**Boss man-** 7:32 AM

Hey, James. I’m sending this text to everyone, but I just wanted to reach out to you personally too. We’re going to close the restaurant today, and possibly tomorrow, depending on how bad the roads still are. But I’d really appreciate it if you could come in tomorrow morning sometime around 6 still to help sort through some things. Sorry. Enjoy your day off and stay warm!

“Stevie, can I actually talk to you?”

“Yeah, for sure. Everything okay?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. Just got a text from my boss and he said he’s gonna close the restaurant today, so I guess I got the day off.”

“Lucky." He heard Rebecca sigh under her breath as she unlocked her car, skirting around to the opposite side.

“That _is_ lucky. I wish I had the day off too,” Steve practically pouted before Bucky threw his arm over his shoulder, faintly nodding his thanks to Charles as he lead Steve back towards the porch..

“Could always call in sick.”

Steve’s eyes wrinkled, like he wanted to laugh but he didn’t. “I wish. But I actually need those days for when I’m, y’know, _sick_.”

“Yeah. I know the feeling. Wish I still had some of my sick days…”

Steve faked an innocent smile. “Sorry.”

“No you aren’t.”

“I’m not. So, what’re you gonna do today?”

The second they opened the front door and took a step inside, the resting warmth of the air that'd been lingering in the living room felt like a sauna to them. Actually made Bucky yawn; it was always the combination of dark rooms and warm air that he blamed responsible for why he could never stay awake in his US history class.

Bucky kicked off his shoes, snatching up a blanket off the couch like it was instinctual. He wrapped it around his own shoulders as a mock cape, pulling Steve into his portable tent with him.

“I don’t know. Guess the possibilities are endless, huh.”

Steve ran his fingers down the hem of the blanket, giving Bucky a small sort of smile, the kind that clearly showed he was tired but still just as dopey as ever. “They really are.”

“When do you gotta get to work?”

Steve shifted his weight onto his other leg. “Not until noon.”

Bucky raised his brows at him. “You wanna get some brunch?”

“Or," his mom offered from the kitchen, "you could eat the nice meal I’ve prepared for you all here. Country styled omelettes, bread with the handmade jam I was telling you about the other day, James, that Carol begged us to try, and Steve sweetie, there's apple juice if you want any. That's still your favorite, right?"

"It is," Steve scratched the flyaways at the back of his neck, Bucky trying his best not to snort (too loud). "Thank you, Winnie," then he turned to Bucky. “Stay at home brunch?”

“That works too,” he said with a nod, his fingers interlocking with Steve's. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Crazy idea, but figured I’d ask— could I tag along with you at work?”

“Uh…" Steve blinked. "What?”

“I won’t bother you or anything, Steve. Promise. I’ll still let you work. I just mean, I could sit in that little lounge area thing by the fireplace, maybe catch up on a coupla books I’ve been meaning to check out. Play around a ‘lil on the computer, maybe some Counter Strike.”

“Buck,” Steve's lashes fluttered against his cheeks as he took in a slow and steady inhale through his nostrils, "my shifts until six.”

“So? Really, what else am I gonna do, Steve? Rather just spend my day with you.”

“As long as you _promise_ not to bug me.”

“Pinky swear.” Bucky squeezed Steve's pinky with his own before he trailed a line down the small of his back, leading them towards the kitchen. He had to admit, he really resented being awake this early (or being awake anytime before noon usually), _but_ , catching the sun rise and taking in how the snow glistened like someone'd poured a pound of glitter on each snowflake was, serene? It was relaxing, yeah.

Fresh breakfast that smelled overwhelming good, surrounded by the people he loved— maybe waking up early wasn't _that_ bad after all.

He was still groggy as all shit though, and he made an immediate beeline for the coffee making, shrugging off the rest of the blanket so Steve could don it for himself.

“Fine," Steve leaned against the counter with his elbows, arms crossed. "Guess I won’t turn down the offer on a free ride."

"Atta boy," Bucky said into the first sip he took of his coffee, the heat relaxing his tensed muscles.

Steve grabbed a fork, smiling over Bucky's shoulder at his mom as he helped himself to a couple strips of bacon and a healthy serving of eggs. “Hey, uh, so I guess you had _the talk_ with Charles, huh?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, almost to the point of them rolling _out_ of their eye sockets. “Don’t be so _dramatic_. I just said he’s— I think he’s good for Bec.”

“He _is_ good for her. He doesn't let her get into trouble and she's not holed up in her room all day anymore,” his mother said, setting her own mug (it was a dusty pink color) besides Bucky's.

“What do you mean holed up in her room?”

Bucky followed her eyes as she glanced back towards the living room. “As much as you two _do_ bicker and argue, she's always looked up to you, James. You know she loves you.”

"And she knows I love her too, even though she makes me want to rip out my own goddamn hair half the time."

She stroked her fingers through his hair. "And I'm sure you make her feel the same way, sweetheart. But, after you two moved out together, she became a lot more,” she loosely gestured, “reclused. You know how shy she can be, Charles is the first real friend she's made, outside of you. And Steve.”

Bucky noticed the pink creeping up Steve's  neck. He swirled his mug around. “I was thinkin’ about Thanksgiving last night, how well he was with all the kids. Jesse seemed to get a kick outta him too.”

“Probably because Charles thought it was _so_ funny that he kept trying to set up booby traps to scare us, and then ended up offering help.” Steve shook his head.

“He did try to help, huh…”

“Don't go changing your mind now, Buck,” Steve smirked and Bucky stuck his tongue out at him.

"If this guy really makes her feel the way Steve makes me feel," he locked eyes with him, "then I'm happy for her."

Bucky's vision was refocused on a plate, held level with his nose, admonished with a slice of toast, a mess of omelette and far too many pieces of bacon for one person (but Bucky knew he'd eat them all anyways). He smiled at his mom.

“Thanks, ma.”

 

 

* * *

 

 


	18. Vlogs

“You missed one.” Bucky’d been sitting on the floor like a total bum, leaning against a shelf (which Steve kept telling him _not_ to do out of fear he’d create a domino effect of toppling shelves, like some shit outta the movies).

 

His legs were crossed, backpack resting against a knee and Steve was three steps up on a ladder, books crammed into his elbow. Maybe it wasn’t the most exciting thing in the world, watching Steve sort books and mark off dates with the pen he kept behind his ear— but he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

 

It was either here, half bored with Steve, or holed up bored _and_ alone at his mom’s house. Would’ve been more amusing if he’d gotten the day off at their own place, but Bucky could only assume it was less an apartment and more so an igloo by now.

 

“Huh?” Steve peered over his shoulder; he’d first stocked away another book, and Bucky’d noticed, every time he’d have to really stretch out his arm when he’d reach for the top shelf, his thermal would rise up, exposing the very obnoxiously printed ‘Calvin Klein’ on a gray waistband. Made Bucky snicker though.

 

“A book,” Bucky gestured to an empty space, beside Steve’s head. “On your left,” he added with a smirk, and Steve sucked in his cheeks.

 

“I thought you were supposed to be keeping quiet and _not_ distracting me.”

 

“Ain't distracting, I'm helping!”

 

“Keep your voice down,” Steve muttered, “sweet Mary Joseph and Jesus, give me the strength to get through today.”

 

“Blessings ain't gonna help when you're around me, Steve.”

 

“I'm well aware of that. But I might as well try anyways.”

 

“Fair enough.” Bucky began tapping his foot against the carpeted flooring; Steve’d already turned back to what he was doing, mumbling to himself as he flipped open the front page of what looked like some sort of self help book. He’d scratched the back of his head, snorting and then filed it away with the hundreds of others.

 

Bucky looked back down to his bag, flicking a plastic keyring that hung from a zipper. Before they’d taken off, he hadn’t really emptied any of his shit— grabbed his bag and started the car, or else Steve was going to be late. They’d spent far too long getting lost in memories over breakfast with his mom.

 

He probably _should’ve_ dumped out the thing, because it was damn heavy. Between his laptop and new camera he still needed to get his hands all over. He was curious to toy with his, well, new toy. And he felt the corners of his lips curling again as he started to say, “Hey—”

 

Steve finished, like he always did, as per their (albeit strange) ritual. “hey.”

 

“You think we should swing by the apartment again and get all the shit from our fridge?”

 

“I mean, it’s not like we really had much in there to begin with.”

 

“Should we get groceries then, so we ain’t uh, eating all my mom’s food?”

 

“That would probably be _nice_ ,” Steve laughed.

 

“At least courtesy. She’s already got Bec mooching off her, doesn’t need us too.”

 

“How is Rebecca mooching off her? She pays for her own food, _and_ rent. Which is more than _you_ did when you lived there.”

 

“You really gonna call me out like that? When I’m trying to be _nice_.”

 

“Nice a few years too late.”

 

“You know what,” Bucky pushed himself to stand up, and Steve was looking over his shoulder again, though expression clouded with worry. Bucky wiggled his brows at him, stretching his arms above his head in a faux yawn— when he lunged forward and wrapped his hands around Steve's waist, hoisting him into the air.

 

Steve _tried_ not to scream. But he failed, and yelped in this strained, silent way where it was more like a whisper of pain than anything.

 

He still had one hand on the ladder for leverage, but Bucky smacked it away, wedging his arm under Steve's knee so he'd take the hint. And he did, as he wrapped his legs around his hips, snickering low.

 

“So distracting,” Steve said into a kiss, “you’re a good one at least.”

 

He carefully let Steve back down. “And don’t you forget that. Maybe I’m distracting you from work, I admit it, but I’m also way more fun than stocking away some dusty books.”

 

“While that is true…”

 

“Yeah, yeah. You gotta focus because you gotta make that bread. I get it. Gotta go to the bathroom anyways, I’ll be back.”

 

“Now you’re leaving me?”

 

“I’ll be back!”

 

Steve wagged his finger at him. “Don't yell!"

 

Bucky threw his arms in the air, rolling his eyes. He slung his backpack loosely over a shoulder before turning a corner and walking towards the front entrance of the library. He felt like it would be _incredibly_ easy to get lost in there, in the literal sense. Not that it was the biggest building on the planet, but everything sort of _did_ look the same, with tall chestnut shelves stacked to the brim with books.

 

At least he'd be able to find his way back to Steve. Or at least he hoped. Guess that's what phones were for though.

 

He stopped adjacent to the bathroom, leaning his back again a wall as he unzipped his backpack. Kraglin's camera, or rather, his now, sat perched on top. He'd kept it in a cloth bag, black with Nikon printed along the front.

 

He brushed his fingers over the plastic bits of the drawstring, slowly loosening them and peering inside. All morning so far, while he'd been present and trying to just enjoy being with Steve (although the… escapade first thing in the morning wasn't ideal), his thoughts were still clouded by— all those lifestyle vloggers he'd seen.

 

Now Bucky wasn't convinced he'd make it as a YouTube star, hell, if he'd even post whatever shit they came up with. _But,_ he knew Steve was pretty photogenic. And he was curious if he was even good at photography anymore. He'd taken a few classes back in the day, but he never had a DSLR back then, just some point and shoot his mom let him borrow.

 

He smirked to himself, holding the camera in one hand before flicking the on button so it came to life. Its screen (yeah, it was pretty cracked) illuminated and then a settings menu popped up, asking for the current year and date, which Bucky didn't know the latter.

 

Looking into the viewfinder, his jaw tightened and his breath stilled for a quick second as he zoomed in on the fireplace in the lounge. The fire was a slow, crackling amber, brush strokes of reds and yellows. And then he pressed down on the shutter button and reviewed his work.

 

Crisp and clean, although he'd need to manually mess with the lightning and not rely on auto. Nothing like his old camera, that was out of focus ninety nine percent of the time and so grainy it looked like a conspiracy theorists' camera from the fifties ( _okay_ , maybe an exaggeration, but, still).

 

He fiddled through the different settings, portrait and macro until he stopped on video, pressing his tongue to his upper lip.

 

* * *

 

 

The camera jumbles around and for a moment, it's only Bucky's feet and the greenish blue carpet under them as he's walking. Everything sounds like static at first.

 

But then it whips upward and there's a moment where the lens adjusts to the harsh light coming in from the skylights. It's too white, but Steve is in the distance, climbing down from the ladder he'd been using now, tracing his hand over books in a metal cart.

 

The floor creaks as he walks closer, and there's a soft coughing sound, which seemed to be Steve since he was patting his chest.

 

The closer Bucky got and Steve still didn't look up, focused too much on whatever he'd now been flipping through. "Hey Buck," Steve sounded out of breath. The camera focused on him, his blond hair looking softer than usual, even picking up on the slight patches of dust Steve had rubbed on his pants.

 

“Hi Stevie. You okay? You’re coughing a lot.”

 

“I’m fine,” Steve laughed, quietly. He scratched the side of his neck. “I told you last time, some of these books are just never checked out, especially if they’re—” when he looked up, he only frowned, looking past the camera and at Bucky. “What the actual _hell_ are you doing?”

 

“Making a video, what do you _think_ I’m doing?”

 

“I mean— why are you filming me?” Steve straightened his posture, turning on his heel with an arm outstretched. Bucky took a step back, furthering himself from him.

 

"Give me that thing, Buck."

 

“‘ _No_. It’s cause I’m gonna start one of those YouTube channel things, where the people film their lives?”

 

Steve scrunched his nose. “You’re going to become a _vlogger_?”

 

“Yes, Steve! It’s my lifelong dream to become a vouger.”

 

“Vlogger. And since when?”

 

“Since yesterday— but that’s besides the point.”

 

Steve is still looking behind the camera. “Who the hell is going to want to watch our lives?”

 

“Oh, come on. We ain’t that boring.”

 

Steve quirked a brow. “Not that we’re exactly… entertaining either.”

 

“Sure we are.”

 

“You think this,” he gestured between them, “is entertaining?”

 

“It could be. C’mon, take me on a tour. Do something cool for the camera.”

 

“A— a tour? Bucky, I’m supposed to be working.” Steve sighed, but there was still a smile playing across his lips. “C’mon, put that thing away before you get me in real trouble.”

 

“I won’t let you get in trouble, I swear. My stealth levels too high for that.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes, looking over his shoulder. He looked back at Bucky behind the camera. “I gotta work.”

 

Bucky groaned. “Now _that’s_ boring.”

 

“You know what else is boring? Starvation. Which is what’s going to happen if you don’t let me work, because you blow all _your_ money on dumb crap. You heard it here first, folks.” Steve turned his back to Bucky, grabbing another pile of books. Under his breath, Bucky grumbled to no one but himself.

 

"Fine, be like that," his voice was too close to the microphone, and though he practically whispered it in reality, it sounded like he was shouting.

 

He wandered down the aisles, panning around and filming anything he could— abstract paintings that hung on the walls, a plethora of posters up by the front that were taped to exposed brick wall, advertising local upcoming events. He walked by Steve's row again and made another detour, showing as he saddled up right next to him, poking him right under the ribs.

 

Steve squeaked and squirmed. “What the hell do you want now!?”

 

“Steve, the coast is clear. Ain’t no one else around, now’s your chance.”

 

Steve threw his head back. “What do you want me to show you? A book tour?”

 

“Take me on a secret tour. Some real off limits shit.”

 

“There’s no ‘off limits shit‘ at a library, James. We aren’t the mystery gang.”

 

“Stevie, listen. If you ain’t ever seen it before, the good shit I mean, then we gotta find it. There has to be something cool here somewhere.”

 

“Yeah, you know where you can find that?" Steve cleared his throat, sliding into a tone that sounded like he was throwing a sales pitch. "In one of our thousands of books. Go read some R.L. Stein or something if you’re that eager for adventure.”

 

Bucky shook the camera from side to side. “Nuh uh. Not what I’m looking for.”

 

Steve huffed, looking down at the book in his hand. He sat it back on the cart and hung his head with an incredulous laugh. “Jesus, you’re so demanding.

 

“But you love me.”

 

“I do, unfortunately.” Steve looked at the camera. “Fine, okay,” then he looked behind it, at Bucky. “You gotta be quiet though. Seriously, not a peep.”

 

“I’ll try my hardest.”

 

Steve wrinkled his nose for a second time. He grabbed Bucky's hand, the camera panning to it before whipping back up. Steve was pulling him towards the back of the library, to a set of tall locked doors.

 

“Why’ve we never done this before?”

 

“Because there’s nothing to see back here.”

 

“The more you say that, the more it seems like you’re trying to cover something up.”

 

“Shut up.” Steve dug through his pocket and pulled out a key with a bright green plastic scrunchie cord attached to it. As he unlocked the door, everything became blurry. It was a lot darker in there and the camera didn't know _what_ to focus on.

 

Steve closed the door behind them. The room is almost like a warehouse, stacks of cardboard boxes filling up all the corners. There's shorter metal shelves with books thrown about on them, all unlabeled.

 

“Jesus, you could build a fortress outta all these books,” Bucky chuckled. “I remember trying to do that as a kid. You remember that too? Hauled a tub of my books over to your place so we could combine them and make a giant thro—”

 

“Hey, Steve,” someone's voice, with a British accent to it, traveled through the otherwise silent space.

 

Steve instantly looked at the camera and then shoved Bucky behind a tower of boxes. He grumbled under his breath, crouching to his knees as he tried to peek the camera around the corner.

 

“H-hey. What’s up, man?”

 

Whoever it was, current offender #1, Bucky lovingly labeled him, was only partially in the shot. His face was mostly cut out, but you could see his shoulder length hair that was a pure charcoal black, draped over a green button up.

 

Bucky was holding the camera crooked, but there was really no better way to hold it when he was still trying _not_ to expose himself. Or, better yet, expose that Steve was about to give away all of the libraries best secrets.

 

“I haven’t seen you around for a few days. I just wanted to say hello. And, add that I saved another box for you of old _Archies_ they were planning to purge.”

 

“For real?”

 

Mystery prince of darkness nodded. “There may be a few _Spy vs Spy_ and _Captain Canuck_ thrown in there too, but, I think you’d like those too, yes?"

 

“Oh yeah, sure, thanks! Yeah uh, I was visiting my fiances relatives for a coupla days, so we’ve been outta town.”

 

“Is that the brunet that’s been loitering around today?”

 

“Yep.” Steve stated. His hands were shoved into his pockets. “You remember Bucky, don’t you?”

 

“‘I’m not sure I recall ever speaking to him, but, yes. I do remember Barnes, always in your shadow.”

 

“Hey, how’s your brother doing?”

 

“Speaking of shadows,” he shifted his position, and now Bucky could see more of his face through the viewfinder; shark jawline, skin that was as white as the snow outside, piercing emerald eyes that… sort of looked more like pits of poison than jewels. Though, there was a strong familiarity to him. “He’s been fine. Living the bachelor life with his other useless friend in Los Angeles.”

 

“He’s in California now?”

 

“Since a few months, yes.”

 

“I thought he’d moved to New Mexico?”

 

There was a loud breathy sigh, and then Bucky was turning the camera to face himself. He'd sucked in his lips, looking above the camera and anywhere else his eyes could dance. He'd clearly lost interest in the banter between those two, but who's to blame him. Steve was often times the shy quiet type when people wanted to talk to him— but, and Bucky knew this better than anyone, there were also times when you _couldn't_ get Steve to shut up, no matter how much you wanted him to.

 

Bucky shifted the camera again. He zoomed to a poster loosely hanging onto a wall by just one thread of tape. He jumped from box to box until he sucked down his breath and whipped to Steve.

 

He was standing there, eyes wide like saucers and a flush across his cheeks. "Woah, hey. It's just me, Buck," he laughed.

 

Bucky swallowed, loud enough the microphone picked up on it. “You’re quite the chatterbox.”

 

“Don’t you remember that guy?”

 

“What?”

 

“That’s Loki.”

 

“ _Wait_ ," then Bucky snorted. "The snake obsessed goth that went to our school?”

 

“With the God-esque older brother?" Steve nodded. "Bingo.”

 

“Why the hell’s he working here? I thought he was going to go into zoo keeping or… professional witchcraft or something.”

 

Steve shrugged. “He’s always been a bookworm. Makes sense to me he’d work here. Though I'm _pretty_ sure he still does witchcraft in his spare time.” Then he reached out his hand for Bucky. “Ready to continue the tour?”

 

He took Steve's hand into his own, slowly standing. “Yessir.”

 

“Now, if you’d be ever so kind to glance to your left,” Steve gestured, “you’ll see what we call in the trade, a stack of broken shit.”

 

The further they travel back in the, yeah, Bucky's just gonna keep calling it a warehouse, they pass through, what feels like, a forest of stacked chairs. Basically, this is a tour of their childhood fantasies; exploring a dark place full of 'mysteries'.

 

There are upturned desks, some with dented legs, and off in the corner was an (ancient) Apple computer that looked like it'd been sitting in the same exact spot since the nineties.

 

“Wait, _Steve_ ,” Bucky's breath caught. He hastily zoomed to a bookshelf full of VHS tapes, giddy like he'd just discovered Bigfoot (he didn't, but he still thinks he will someday). "Is that— are those what I _think they are_?”

 

“You’re acting like you’ve never seen a VHS before. Which I know isn’t true,” Steve smirked at Bucky, behind the camera.

 

“Shut up,” he chuckled. “Just excited to see them is all. Really miss our old VHS player sometime, even though it had a tendency of not workin’ and uh, ripping films apart.”

 

“The good days, before modern technology.”

 

“That _was_ modern technology. Just like _Doom_ was the greatest game of its time.”

 

“You’re _really_ dating yourself there, Buck.”

 

“I don’t care. People need to hear the truth.”

 

Still tugging on his hand, Steve leads them towards what looks like an office. There's a closed door with a window in it, blinds shielding whatever was on the inside.

 

There's a (broken) metal lamp sitting on the floor, which Steve kicks aside, revealing another key under it.

 

And when he unlocks it… it's just another empty room, that doesn't look like its been used in years. It's even darker in there, but Steve doesn't flick on any lights yet.

 

Instead, he only tugs Bucky inside, shutting the door behind them. There's a closet in the back, which Steve walks ahead of Bucky to open; and that's when he flicks on the lights.

 

The closet is lined with string lights. There's a beanbag chair in the corner with a blanket folded neatly on top of it (one that Bucky recognized), and a small reading light that looked like it was taped to the wall.

 

There's a stack of _Archie_ comics, a few scattered _Astro Boy_ here and there.

 

“Sometimes when it’s really slow and there’s nothing really to do, I come in here and, uh,” he picked up one of the comics, “catch up on reading. I eat lunch in here usually too.” He was looking at Bucky again. “Don’t worry, the comics are all ones they were gonna just throw out. They ain’t overdue or anything— or else, I’d have to fine myself.”

 

Bucky snickered. But then he got quite, slowly panning around the small space.

 

“You don’t eat with your other coworkers?” he asked.

 

“Nah. Prefer the silence anyways. That's why I usually call you on my breaks, so you can keep me company instead."

  


* * *

 

 

It's later in the day, the sun starting to die down and color everything inside the library bleak. After Steve made it clear that he really _did_ have to get back to work, Bucky finally adhered to his (broken) promise of not distracting him and retreated to the lounge, kicking back by the fire.

 

He was sitting at a long table, filled up by students hunched over their textbooks. He'd had his laptop out, camera lain beside it, finger tapping away at his trackpad.

 

It was when they were in a rush to leave their fridge of an apartment that he (read: Steve) found his Beats. They were tucked into a box that was inside _another_ box of old nostalgic shit they never went through still, full of old letters and some of Steve's sketches from grade school.

 

( _“Steve, you’ll never guess what I found.”_

 

_“You'll never guess what_ I _found.”_

 

Bucky held up a Tamagotchi with a clear plastic housing, while Steve had his Beats dangling from a finger.

 

Needless to say, they both started cracking up. _)_

 

Now he was going to keep them in a very safe spot, aka his head. He wasn't going to lose them if he was wearing them. Er, hopefully.

 

So with nothing better to do, he was watching through what he'd filmed, scrolling through clips and trying to edit things together. He was leaning his chin against his palm when the drawls of _The Pixies'_ 'Hey' faded away into silence.

 

There was a kissed pressed behind his ear, and then he heard Steve whisper, "I'm all done, finally."

 

Steve's arms wrapped around his shoulders, Bucky cupping his hand over Steve's. "You already clocked out?"

 

“Mhm.”

 

“You got your bag?”

 

Steve hummed again and he felt his chin nodding against the side of his head.

 

“And your jacket?”

 

“I’m wearing it, Buck.”

 

“Well, how am I supposed to know that? I can’t see you,” he laughed, trying to focus on Steve’s reflection in the computer. He could see his eyes, closed, long lashes against his cheeks, dopey grin plastered right where it should be.

 

“You can see my arms, which are clearly wearing my jacket.”

 

Bucky huffed. “Whatever.”

 

Steve chuckled. “You ready to head back home? Er, well, to your mom’s place, rather.”

 

“I _wish_ we could go back home. Yeah, ‘m almost ready. Just give me a couple more seconds.”

 

“What’re you doing?” Steve let go of Bucky, pulling out the chair beside him instead. He leaned against his shoulder, watching as Bucky tapped on the screen, replaying a clip he'd already watched.

 

"Editing the video from earlier.”

 

“You’re really gonna post that thing?”

 

“Sure! Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“Because it’s borin—”

 

“You keep up that attitude and you won’t make it into the next video.”

 

“I’m perfectly fine with that.” Bucky shook his head, flicking Steve right on the cheek. So he added, “You even know what you’re gonna name the channel, Buck?”

 

That was a good question. Very good, important, question indeed. No, he _hadn’t_ actually thought about that yet. Why would he; Bucky was good at thinking up the big picture, but small details, like the very name for the channel— he always went with the logic that he'd deal with minor details when he got to them (which wasn't always true). “I’m… not sure. I hadn’t really thought about that yet.”

 

Bucky could see Steve's smirk in his reflection. “Of course you haven’t."

 

“What about, uh— something like Steve and Bucky’s adventures? Or is that too lame?”

 

“ _Definitely_ too lame. And why’s my name gotta be first?”

 

“Could be Bucky and Steve’s excellent adventure instead.”

 

“But, then your name is first—”

 

“Oh my God, quit your whining. Making fun of me for not thinking of anything, but nothing satisfies you.”

 

"Come on, I'm not always that hard to please, you know that."

 

Bucky minimized the window for Sony Vegas Pro, tapping open Chrome. He stared at the last page he'd had open, YouTube, that red logo fucking taunting him. He bit the skin of his thumb.

 

He figured he'd be able to change it in the future if he wanted to? But he wasn't really sure if that was the case. To be honest, Bucky hadn't had an actual YouTube account since he was sixteen, and that was only to leave angsty teenage comments on critique videos about comic books and classic movies from the seventies. Yes, he might've called out a few people for being fake fans, _but_ , that was in his past now.

 

He knew all his favorite podcasts and channels names by heart, he never saw a reason to even create an account (especially with all the bullshit hoops you'd have to jump through just _to_ make an account).

 

So now his mind was blank. He was sort of lame, so maybe a mundane and straight to the point name would work. Or, he could try to be creative...

 

"Did you even hear what I sai—"

 

"What about Stucky?"

 

Steve looked at him, dumbfounded. "Is… is that English or are you going Russian on me again? You know my Russian ain't that good Buck, I hate when you do that."

 

"No," Bucky clicked his tongue, "it's our names, combined. That work?"

 

"Uh," Steve shrugged, "it's something. Better, I guess."

 

"How about this," Bucky raised both of his hands, creating a frame with his fingers. "The Stucky Chronicles. I can see it now, Stevie."

 

"That sounds like we're making a _newspaper_."

 

"We could do that too." Bucky started tapping away at his keyboard before finally hitting enter. "Would you look at that; no one's taken it yet."

 

"Congrats, Buck." Steve gave his cheek a small pat before Bucky yanked him closer, kissing him soft.

 

"Can't wait to tell Mom we're going to be internet famous."

 

"If that's what you want to call it…"

 

* * *

 

 

Steve looked around, his eyes darting across their bedroom— their actual bedroom now. They'd been back for a few days, though their heater still wasn't as warm as it _had_ been. Beggars can't be choosers though. Neither of them really found it too much of a hassle to wear sweaters inside anyways.

 

Steve dragged a hand across his face sluggishly, and then his attention was bouncing like some sort of exotic, secret dance. He pulled the camera closer to himself.

 

He looked like a mess; still in his pajamas, grey shirt sliding off one bony shoulder. He was sitting on their bed, unmade and sheets thrown about every which way. His hair looked like a poor attempt for a mohawk.

 

Then he spoke, and his voice sounded as tired as he looked. “It’s,” a light flickered across his face, “seven in the morning and yet Buck’s already up, which is a miracle.” He yawned. “I mean I was too nervous slash excited slash fucking trying not to drive myself insane last night so I didn’t really sleep either, but— seven in the morning’s a bit early. He was even joking about going for a run.”

 

“Who’re you talking to?” Bucky called from a different room; he sounded distant and muffled.

 

“Uhm,” Steve looked above the camera as the sound of footsteps got closer, and louder, and then they stopped. There was a choked chuckle and then Steve quicikly swerved the camera around.

 

There Bucky was, standing in the doorway in a maroon tank, discolored with bleach stains and a too loose neckline. His face was covered in shaving cream, running down his neck; foamy and he’d applied too much, so it was starting to fall. He held a metal razor in one hand, towel in the other.

 

Now it was Steve’s turn to laugh as Bucky grumbled to himself and stormed off, yelling over his shoulder, “God, no one wants to see that. Delete that clip, Steve.”

 

“Of course they do— no Buck, come back!” Steve bolted off the bed, chasing him towards the bathroom. He looked over his shoulder, glowering at him, fingers wrapped around the doorknob.

 

“Steve,” his nostrils flared, but Steve only shoved the camera closer to him.

 

“The camera loves you, Buck.”

 

“Turn that shit off, will ya?”

 

“No. Show them your morning routine. Wasn’t it your idea in the first place to become a lifestyler vlogger?”

 

“That was so… a week ago, Steve.”

 

“Do you want to return the camera then and get your car fixed instead?”

 

“...no,” Bucky groaned.“You wanted a what? A bathroom tour?” Bucky leaned over the counter, razor dragging across his jawline and over his cheek. He was focused on staring at himself in the mirror, and Steve only zoomed in closer, manually adjusting the focus; it was a very artistic shot of him shaving, the cream of their walls nothing but a blur with Bucky as the centerpiece.

 

“Sure. Ha, we could make this like an episode of MTV Cribs. Remember that show?”

 

Bucky looked at Steve pointedly. “Yes. I remember that show. Our… crib would be an embarrassment compared to those multi million dollar mansions.”

 

“Maybe. But ours is full of cooler shit.”

 

“Some of those guys had at-home arcades.”

 

“That’s all junk.”

 

“If you had a standup machine of Ms. Pac-Man, you would _not_ be calling it junk.” Bucky ran the short towel under the sink before rubbing circles across his face, washing away any leftover shaving cream. “Thought you weren’t a fan of the whole filming thing.”

 

“I came around. So don’t quit on me now Buck.” Steve tugged on the hem of his tank. “C’mon, do the tour thing.”

 

Bucky rolled his eyes, but then he was smirking. He took in a deep breath, straightening his posture before he turned on his heel, pointing to their towel rack that hung above the toilet. Only one towel was hanging, navy blue in color. “This is Steve’s towel. We both got navy blue towels,” Bucky swung the other towel into frame, “but you know how you can tell who’s whose? His is always pristine, ‘cause he never uses it. Only uses mine instead.”

 

Steve scoffed. “That’s so not true,” to which Bucky whispered, “ _It so is_.”

 

The camera turned around. Steve’s cheeks had gone rose. “...it is,” he admitted.

 

“You gonna show them our mirror?”

 

“Oh, yeah!” Steve clumsily spun the thing around again, for the tenth time, and for a split second, everything was completely out of focus. Until color started to fade in, and then there was an orange post it note with blue pen on it, tape stuck across the top of it. The paper itself was dented and damaged, a few water stains here and there.

 

“Remember when you wrote this one?” Steve asked. The note read ‘ **_Stevie. I’m sorry I didn’t get home until you were already asleep, but I gotta say, you’re damn loud in your sleep. You snore like a truck. It’s cute. Also, that lasagna you made was kickass. Love you. TTEOTL._ ** ’

 

“I do. And that still stands true— you make a lot of noise for such a small guy. Take up a lot of room too for how skinny you are.”

 

“Okay, alright. Just keep telling everyone what’s wrong about me.”

 

Bucky half grinned, chuckling faintly. “Nothing is.” Then Bucky was reaching for the camera, fingers turning everything black. He was peering into the zoomfinder, zooming out slowly. He glanced towards Steve. “Look at you.”

 

“What about me?”

 

Bucky leaned over, kissing the top of his scalp. “Maybe you can watch this video and finally see what I see.”

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky cut open a fresh bag of premium French roast (though it wasn’t _that_ premium because he’d bought it at Fairway for a couple of dollars), groaning to himself in delight.

 

The frame cut. The camera was sitting on their countertop; the shot was more counter than it was actually of Bucky, but you could still see the coffee pot he had in his hands. He poured two cups of coffee, slow. The steam rose into the air.

 

Another cut and he’s muttering expletives under his breath as he whisked around a bowl of eggs far too fast.

 

The last cut was Bucky just showing off what he’d made; a blue and a red plate, both decorated with equally high stacks of pancakes, whip cream melting down their sides. Beside them was a pile of mushed up eggs, some worrying flecks of black clung to their edges, and cheese was melted on them.

 

He set the camera down, higher now. He’d put a book on the countertop to act as a… makeshift tripod, basically. He finger combed his hair back, taking a long sip of coffee. There’s a creak of pipes from off in the distance, and Bucky smiled to himself.

 

“Reason why I got up so early is… ‘cause it’s a pretty special day for Steve. See, he’d never talk about this himself, but that’s why he’s got me. I’m his partner, I’m allowed to brag ‘bout his accomplishments,” he took a short breath. “He’s got an interview with the director of a pretty big, and well curated, art gallery ‘round this area. Guy wants to feature some of his paintings there. He might even get a job outta it, but who knows,” Bucky shook his head. “‘Course he will, I know.”

 

“Don’t talk me up like that.”

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows, reaching for the camera. He walked towards the bathroom. “Don’t talk you up like what?”

 

“Like— like I actually got a shot at doin’ this instead of just being— boring Steve Rogers. Invisible to the world.”

 

“ _What_ ,” Bucky threw his head back, worrying his lower lip, “are you _talking_ about? You aren’t invisible to anyone, fuck, it’s like people _can’t_ stop looking at you when you walk into a room, Steve.”

 

“Yeah. Because they’re trying not to laugh at the short kid cowering in the corner.”

 

“Where the hell is this coming from? No one’s laughing at you Steve. Especially not this guy if he wants to feature three of your paintings at a gallery hosted by New York fucking University, for Christ’s sake.”

 

“Sure he ain’t just doing this out of pity?”

 

“Open the door,” Bucky jiggled the handle, but it didn’t budge.

 

“I don’t want you to see me.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I look stupid.”

 

“You never look stupid.”

 

“Yes I do,” Steve’s voice was so quiet, Bucky had to put his ear to the door to hear him.

 

“Honey, please.”

 

The door eventually creaks open. Steve’s head is cut out of the frame, but he’s wearing a dress shirt that’s almost identical to the color of his towel; rich blue, and topped off with a bowtie. His shirt is tucked into his pants; though not dress pants, but they were a nice pair of form fitting jeans.

 

“Jesus,” Bucky breathed, and you could hear the air flutter in his lungs. “Why are you so damn hard on yourself? You’re good at every _single_ thing you do and so gorgeous.”

 

“Stop…”

 

“I’m serious, Steve. How many times do I gotta drill that into your thick skull?” He knocked on the side of his head. “Hold on,” Bucky said and set the camera down on a shelf. The side of a DVD was the main focus.

 

“Are you still filming?” Steve asked quietly.

 

“No, it’s off.” He knew it wasn’t— but he also never expected to actually post this video. “Steve, you can’t see that when you look at yourself?”

 

“What, that I’m— gorgeous? No, Buck, I’m not that full of myself.”

 

“No, I just mean,” he kissed his cheek, taking his hands into his own. “I’ve always looked up to you, kid. Ever since we first met. ‘Cause here you are, this tiny ass thing with a voice louder than anyone else's, always standing up for himself and never letting any obstacle get in his way. And then you’re just, you’re so fucking hard on yourself. Always sayin’ you ain’t good enough, but what is good enough then?”

 

Steve shrugged.

 

“Right, because there’s no end goal there. You just like to torture yourself, and you gotta stop it. You worry too much and you gotta learn to appreciate yourself more, ‘cause I really do appreciate you.”

 

“I’m just— I’m nervous. Sometimes it feels like, why the hell did I go to college, you know? Because it feels like a waste.”

 

“No, I don’t know. You’re damn good at art, but you never _try_ to get yourself anywhere with it.”

 

Steve’s cheeks puffed. “Yes I do.”

 

“No, you don’t. Anytime someone gets interested in your work, you get all shy and don’t let them look. You never post your stuff online and, hell, you don’t even use social media even though you could _really_ use that to your advantage. Yeah, Steve, it _is_ a waste if you’re just gonna waste your talent.”

 

“I’m,” Steve huffed.

 

“I’m not trying to make you angry,” Bucky cut him off. “Look, you took this opportunity and that’s great. This is a step forward in the right direction.”

 

Steve looked down at the ground, then Bucky cupped his jaw and made him look at him. “Hey, Rogers.”

 

“Call me Barnes.”

 

“Okay, Barnes,” he smiled. Bucky continued, “I love you and I only want the best for you. Yeah, you have missed out on a lot of things because though you fight for a lot of shit, what you don’t fight for is yourself. Always putting everyone else first. But, it’s not like one opportunity is the end of the line, obviously. I really do think you’re gonna be able to do this, Steve, if you really want it.”

 

“I still want you to be able to do what you want too—”

 

“Oh my God, _don’t worry about me_ . What did I just say? Today is about you. We’ll figure out what to do with _me_ later. Just remember to keep taking deep breaths,” he ran a hand down the length of Steve’s arm. “You’re gonna be great. He’ll love you. Everyone always does.”

 

Steve slung his arms around his neck, pulling him down for a breathless kiss. But then Bucky pulled him towards the shelf, blindly pawing for the camera.

 

“I thought you said— you stopped filming.”

 

“Just makin’ _extra_ sure.” He roughly turned it off.

  


* * *

 

 

“They didn’t let me come in with Stevie, so, I’m gonna take you all on a museum tour,” Bucky scratched at his neck, “thought I don’t know a single artist here. ‘Cept for one name.”

 

He zoomed to a gold plated plaque, the words _‘Donated by the Stark foundation’_ darkly inscribed in cursive. “See that? Fuckin’ Stark foundation donated not one but _four_ pieces here. And why is this a problem? I’m not going to read you my novel about the reasons _why_ I dread Tony Stark, but I’ll give you an excerpt: he’s a complete, and total, cun—”

 

“Bucky?” a woman’s voice echoed, and slowly her face came into focus; blonde with sparkling blue eyes, the blush faint on her pale cheeks and lips a natural pink, though her lashes weren’t as natural.

 

“Cher—”

 

“Sharon,” she finished with a nod.

 

“Sharon, right. Peggy’s, uh, whatever… what’re you doing here? God, we run into you at the weirdest places.”

 

She chuckled, glancing into the lens briefly. “I’m working here now. I know, I was working at the quilting shop a bit ago, but they’ve been cutting back on their hours and well,” she cocked her head, “got bills to pay, needed to go job hunting again.”

 

“You like it here?” he took a step closer, letting the camera fall in his hand. Now all there was, was the eloquently stained wood below them.

 

“It’s relaxing, that’s for sure. And everyone is almost _too_ nice.”

 

Bucky hummed. “That’s good. Steve’s probably gonna be working here sometime too.”

 

“Oh? Is that why you’re here?”

 

“Mhm. He’s got an interview with the head director or whoever right now. But they wouldn’t let me in with him, so I’ve just been uh, filming and wandering around.”

 

“Filming what?”

 

The wood creaked. “Everything. We started a YouTube channel not that long ago.”

 

“A YouTube channel?”

 

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Sounds kinda stupid, doesn’t it? But, we’ve actually gotten a fair amount of subscribers—”

 

“Buck.” Bucky fiddled with the camera in his hands, settling on Steve’s figure, that was dashing towards them. He’d had the hoodie that he wore on the way there slung over his forearm (it was cold and they ended up being in a rush to leave, so he didn’t want to go digging for a suit top that matched), a folder clutched in his palm.

 

He was close enough to see the glisten in his eyes, and then he practically jumped on Bucky, melding himself against him.

 

“Hi Sharon,” he whispered, tucking himself under Bucky’s chin. “I— turn that thing off, I got a lot to tell you.”

 

“Good things?”

 

“Very,” Steve finished with a kiss.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They’re at a bar, generic pop music blasting in the background, and they’re both full of smiles. Steve is nursing a bottle of Corona while Bucky’s arm is draped over Steve’s shoulders, pulling him in close. “You’ll never guess what happened,” Bucky exclaimed, “except you will because it’s exactly what I told you.” He turned to Steve, who looked back at him.

 

“I really didn’t think— well, I mean I figured he’d take my art, because I know it’s not _that bad_ —”

 

“But you wanna stay humble, I get it. Lucky for you I’m your fiance and I don’t gotta be humble, and I can brag all about my Stevie to the world,” he looked back at the camera, “the guy was _in love_ with Steve, so much so that he _offered him a job_ on the spot and asked how soon he’d be able to work for the galley.”

 

“I wouldn’t put it like that…”

 

“I know you wouldn’t. The guy came out to talk to us again, together, and it was obvious— he was obsessed with you, buddy. That’s a good thing. He wants Steve to do what he does; curate shit, go talk to other artists, basically show off his talents.”

 

“Ah, fuck, that means I gotta tell them I need to put in my two weeks tomorrow at work.”

 

“That’s exciting though, isn’t it?”

 

“Scary, but yeah, exciting.”

 

“Why’s it scary?”

 

“Because… we really _are_ growing up.”

 

Bucky kissed the top of his head. “Guess we’re legit adults now, huh?”

 

“God, I guess so.”

 

Bucky snorted, tapping the side of Steve’s bottle with a nail. “Finish your beer already, you’ve been one fourth of the way done with that for an hour now.”

 

“Okay, alright,”

 

Bucky smiled against the side of his head, whispering to Steve, “I’m so proud of you.”

 

* * *

 


End file.
